


Untitled Science Fiction

by MotivatedSquid



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Captivity, Clint Barton-centric, F/M, Gen, Hurt Clint Barton, Implied Sexual Content, Killer Robots, Non-Consensual Touching, Not Beta Read, Robot/Human Relationships, Stalking, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 40,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28819818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotivatedSquid/pseuds/MotivatedSquid
Summary: Hawkeye, Robots and Spies -oh my!While assigned to security detail at an underground SHIELD base, agent Clint Barton unwittingly becomes the object of desire to an experimental A.I program.Soon, he is dealing with an intelligent computer on the fritz, a spy in their midsts, and now, Tony Stark has decided to join the party.Who ever thought living in lockdown could be boring.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A first attempt at creative writing, please do not expect too much from me.   
>  I simply wish to provide a bit of entertainment, and if you are entertained; then I shall be a happy woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome reader, this work of fiction is an alternate take on of the history of LMD’s featured in the Marvel universe. For the purpose of this story, the cannon science of the LMD has been changed.  
> Also, I have pulled inspiration from various science fiction books and film. I have written this fanfiction solely for creative purposes. I am having fun doing it, and I hope you enjoy reading it.  
> Thank you reader.

Prologue

  * 1976 -



The Elevator door opens, and the middle aged man steps out. He’s a smartly dressed, and bespectacled man; and his walk powerful.

He marches down the brightly lit hallway of the facility. He carries his leather bound folder filled with pages of documents, tucked within his arms.

Coming to the main T-junction a head of him with, he nods to the young woman typing on the computer at the desk. Rounding a corner he progresses down a hallway of offices, where he is stopped, by a senior agent of SHIELD.

“Mister Holland, do I have news for you.” The agent states to the man.

“Coming from you, Reinhard? It’s never good; what is it?”

The agent Reinhard, gleefully shoves a folder into the older man’s hands.

“Eviction orders. From Director Stoner himself. I guess the Carter, looked over the details of your Arsenal project; didn’t like what she found.”

“And how would they know about Arsenal? Unless, someone told them… _agent_ Reinhard?” Holland insinuates.

The agent just shrugs, completely disregarding the other’s accusation.

“Don’t know, and I sure as hell, don’t care. Arsenal is done; and you—you sick bastard, can go back to building circuit boards.”

Agent Reinhard pushes forward, purposely knocking the shoulder of Holland. Visibly fuming, Holland continues on his way to his destination.

A younger man pops his head out, and hops out of his office. He is rather anxious, and hurried to address the older gentleman.

“Holland!” the younger man exclaims. “Have you heard the new orders from D.C?”

“About what, Thorogood! D.C sends us new orders everyday.” The Older man responds with feigned disinterest.

The men continue down the hall to the end. Stopping to unlock the office door at the end.

“Yes, but these ones are for us specific.” The man, Thorogood response.

Entering the larger office, the younger man closes, and lock the door behind him, while the older man rounds his desk.

“Director Stoner issued cease orders on Project Arsenal. They’re sending a team now to do a sweep.”

“Hmm…worried Carter will give him a hard time is he? Well, SHIELD’s loss is our gain I suppose.” Holland finally looks up to the younger. “You worried Thorogood?”

“No, just…if they can’t get this thing to work? Then how can we?” His agitated as hell about the projects shutdown. “What could we do that SHIELD didn’t do? I don’t see how this could be worth our necks.”

The man snaps his eyes to man; chiding him. “Everything is worth our sacrifice, Thorogood! This is bigger then us. This is for the world. Arsenal is-“

“Arsenal is a pipe dream! We’ve tried every method to get the damn thing to .function. Electrocuting human brains isn’t working! The science is just not there!”

“…I hope you know what your saying, _Thorogood_. Because I don’t believe our superiors would care for your tone.” Holland seethes at his subordinate.

“You know it won’t work.”

“I know that SHIELD doesn’t have our methods to franchise on.”

The older Man, kneels to one knee under his desk, and turns the dial to his floor safe. Opening the door, he stuff the leather bound folder into the floor; then closes, and locks the safe.

“You know about the Red Room? They have made some fascinating headway with mind manipulation. I am confident we can take on this project ourselves.” Holland states.

“How do we get our work out before the cleaning crew shows up?” Thorogood ask genuinely. Before Holland could respond to the young subordinate, a near deafening explosion rocks the floor!

The sounds of screams and gunfire erupt abruptly. The two men race to the door, cautiously they open it, to find groups of lab workers, and technicians running through the halls.

And behind the fleeing group, is an inhumanly roar! Holland, and Thorogood look at each other, and immediately closes the door. Once again locking the door. The two men retreat farther into the office.

“I though you said it didn’t work Thorogood!” Holland barks at the young man.

“I said it won’t _function.”_ Thorogood snaps _._

 _“_ We _can_ get the thing up and running! We just can’t control it, _Holland!_ ”

“I swear to god! When we get back to Rus-“

 _-Crash!!-_ Before Holland could finish his sentence, the door to the office is kicked in. Both men are stunned at the sight before them! The bulky form of the horrid thing, built within SHIELD’s walls, stomps towards the cowering men.

Thinking quick, Holland pushes Thorogood into the giants path. Taking the younger mans head into it’s hand, the monster begins to squeeze…until Thorogood is screaming in anguish.

Holland takes the opportunity to run past the thing. Just as he hears his subordinate’s final shriek, and the crunch of bones.

Running down the hall toward the safety of the exit elevator, Holland curses as he realizes that not only is the folder in his floor safe, the disc pack is too! What damnable problems this has caused; how is he supposed to get back to his superiors without the projects files!? He’ll have to come back once this is all taken care of.

The sound of thundering footfalls alert the man of the threat behind him. Picking up the pace he rounds the corner of the junction to the elevator just as the thing behind him catches up.

There is a moment of unbridled terror for Holland, as he fears for imminent death! But, just then the elevator doors open, and the Calvary arrives.

A contingent of armed SHIELD security races out; rapidly taking positions, they ready…

_Oh thank god!_

Aim…

_Wait a minute!_

FIRE!!

“NO!”

Holland barley utters the word, when his world ends in a hail of bullets.

When dealing with matters of national security, and a dangerous threat to civilians; there tends to be some collateral damage.

>>———> • >>———>

Chapter One.

Clint Barton yawns so big, he’s fist could’ve fit in his mouth; if he tried. He’s riding the elevator up SHIELD headquarters in Washington D.C.

His stop? Sci-Tech division; why? Because his duties demand it. What are his duties? Security detail. Which translates to, Guard duty…ugh.

The car stops, the elevator bings, and the doors slide open. Out steps Clint Barton, SHIELD agent, avenger, and for the last two weeks…the amazing rent-a-cop. Clint walks through the halls of the 20th floor. With paper coffee in hand, the bright sun blinding through the large windows, and into his eyes. Grey suites chirping their good mornings to the field agent as he goes.

Clint returns the friendly greetings, and nods his head to the young agent at the reception desk for the lab. He presses his thumb to the plate on the desk; and once the beep of approval, sounds, he’s given the all clear to enter.

Chugging back the rest of his morning coffee, Clint crumples the disposable cup. Then, with out looking, launches it overtop an agents head and into the trash bin behind him.

Clint walks passed the ballistic glass windows of the computer Lab. Glancing in, he sees the same thing he’s seen for almost a month. A jumble of wires, bits and pieces of machinery, and the half done robot; strung up in the middle.

He enters through the sliding doors to the lab. The current security detail, a woman agent, gives him an acknowledgment as they trade places. She’s done her night shift, and free to leaves; and agent Clint Barton take her former post.

Standing here, he overlooks the safety, and security of the Sci-Tech division research team.

It’s the afternoon now, and he was bored. So, so bored. So much in fact, If he could choose between paperwork and this current assignment; paperwork would win out.

They’re doing something about research in Artificial Intelligence and nano technology; at least that’s what he’s gathered from the various jargon of scurrying technicians.

There’s the two leads on this project, Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons. Fitz’n Simmons to pretty much everybody.

At first Clint couldn’t recall who was who, because the two seem to introduce themselves as one entity.

Along with Fitz’n Simmons are a four technicians, two women and two men. A computer engineer, a software programmer, an Artificial Intelligence programer, and Simmons’ own Bio-technician.

At the centre of it all, was the robot. At least that’s what Clint referred to it as. He knew it was more than just a ‘bot.’ He just didn’t know the exact details of what it is. So he just simply called it ‘Robot’

Suspended in the middle of the lab, above a platform with various cables and cords running into ports all about the place was this metal biped.

The chassis where being examined by two techs; muttering about where these access points should be.

Clint couldn’t hold back a yawn where he stood off to the side. This was boring.

“You couldn’t possibly be bored, could you?Agent Barton.”

Clint smirked at the familiar voice, and turned to face his partner, Natasha Romanov.

Natasha Romanov always made him smile, it was an involuntary act every time they met. He just couldn’t help it. She was a marvel to behold.

Her soft red hair bounced with every turn. Emerald green eyes to melt a cold heart, and could burn with an inferno, especially, when evil threatens the innocent.

Nat was his best friend, and soulmate. She could be his only friend in the whole world for all he cared; and he would be happy. That was the effect of their relationship.

Yeah, there have been time he wished for more. But if there was one line Clint would never cross, it would be one to destroy his and Nat’s friendship. So, once in a while he may think, and maybe daydream; and that would be all.

Then, he goes about his business, like now.

“Not at all.” He grinned “I’m having a riot here.”

“Hmm yes, looks like it” Natasha smirked; indicating to the room of monotonous clicking and quiet murmurings.

“God Barton, you daredevil.” Natasha jokes. “You’ll end up in an early grave, living wild like this.”

Clint chuckles at that. “What can I say; Danger is my middle name.”

“Your middle name is Franc…”

“-So! Nat, came here to catch all the action? Watch me exercise my skills of, _nerd_ watching?” He takes a moment to scan the lab. All normal.

“Oh God, Clint.” She scoffs at the lame pun.

“Just here to keep me company? Or pull me out for some Avengers business! Are we getting sent out? Please tell me we are getting sent out.” Clint practically begs that last bit.

“No, but kind of.” Natasha gives him a sympathetic look. “I am getting sent out. It’s a Solo-Op, I could be back in three weeks...”

“Or three months.” Clint finishes.

“I’m jetting out at 0600 tomorrow.” She tells him.

She looks sorry, about leaving him behind.

“Damn it!” Clint groused. “Not you Nat, I mean good on you. You got important stuff to do, while I have the awesome chore of babysitting.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts Clint. ‘Action’ isn’t always fun and games; you know that more than anyone.” Natasha almost chides, but she’s sympathetic about the last bit.

There’s a moment of silence between them, as memories of past events cross their minds.

“Kinda serves you right though.” Natasha says. “Wouldn’t be here if you didn’t make that joke to our director.”

“What? The one about the three guys, each wearing an eye-patch, and they all walk into a bar; then the the last guys says… ‘watch were you’re going.” Clint asks.

“…” Natasha gives him a look.

“Phil laughed.” He defends.

“Phil didn’t laugh.” She objects

“His right eye lid twitched, and his upper lip pulled up a fraction; trust me, Phil laughed.” Clint finishes.

“Besides, Fury’s the one that asked if I could hit the target at 280 meters. He should know better then question _me,_ about hitting _anything,_ at any meters.”

“Worth it was it?”

Clint moves his whole body to face Natasha

“Ugh...nah.” He concedes

“I seriously can’t stand this. I’m being demeaned here! A world class assassin; and now, a rent-a-cop for bunch of-“

A Hindu tech turns her attention towards the pair with a questioning face.

“...exceptional-bright-young-people.”

Both agents are given a look of skepticism as the woman turns back to her work. Looking back at Natasha, Clint gives her his best puppy dog eyes.

“Please Nat, get me out of here.” Natasha gives him a sympathetic look, then pats her partners arm.

“Meeting with Coulson in one hour. His office, don’t be late.”

Then she turns and let herself out of the lab. Clint breathed a sigh of relief; finally something new in this dull routine.

For the remainder of the hour, till Barton was excused to see Coulson. Clint observers Fitz’n Simmons, working tirelessly about the lab.

He spares a glance at the robot; hanging like a marionette amidst the tedious bustle- Wait! Did the technicians move it’s head? Clint swore the thing’s head was always forward and down. Now it was, well looking right at him. The head was turned at a 40 degree angle, and what counted for it’s eyes seemed zeroed on his position.

Clint Barton is a sniper, and snipers have a good sense of when they are in someone else’s crosshairs. It’s a feeling that many will attribute to their survival.

Always trust your gut.

He couldn’t rationalize how, but his gut right now, was uneasy. So much, it was swirling all about him. He couldn’t shake the feeling.

_Couldn’t have been that breakfast burrito?_

Looking about the lab, no one seemed the least bit concerned. The technicians are following the codes as they scrolled down the screens of monitors.

Fitz’n Simmons where re-aligning the cables through the chassis, in order to fit onto the torso of the robot.

Clint tried to not dwell too much on this feeling.

He really couldn’t figure how there could be a threat in this lab. They where in the middle of SHIELD headquarters. With virtually an army of high class spies, and combatants, with an array of weapons and gear.

If there was a threat here, it would have been detected, and an army to engage it. But still, any time he looked at the thing in the centre...he felt eyes on him.

Eventually, his replacement showed up, and it was time for him to go. Eager to leave the lab, Clint rushed through the doors. Walking by the observation windows, he steals one last look at the robot. It’s facing forward and down.

Maybe someone was testing the movement of it’s head? When he wasn’t paying attention?

Problem was, he’s a sniper. Clint always knew everyone’s positions, even subconsciously he knew. He didn’t see anyone make the obvious effort to turn its head back to the first hand position.

Clint marches on and makes his way to Coulson’s office. Maybe the monotony of ‘guard duty’ has got him on the edge with anxiety.

Over thinking things, and could he be so bored? That he’s trying to find danger where there’s none? Hopefully whatever Coulson has lined up for him will shake him out of this mental boredom. Hopefully.

>>———> • >>———>

Deirdre Ambers looks up from her monitor. Her eyes following the Blond security guard as he leaves the lab.

_Wheres he gone to?_

There was not a lot, in Deirdre’s life that gave her much joy. It wasn’t that she was bitter, or cynical. She just never got excited about things.

She didn’t yearn to pursue a social life. Growing up Deirdre didn’t like playing with the other kids, or joining in any social groups.

There had been times when Deirdre attempted to make friends.

But every time, her anxiety would flared up, and she’d remain mute. She reasoned that socializing was tedious; and never bothered with it again.

When she got older Deirdre graduated at the top of her class from M.I.T.—With a masters in data science, and two other degrees, in machine learning, and artificial intelligence. Her exceptional projects, and impressive dissertation brought her to the attention of SHEILD.

Deirdre would consider this as the best time of her life. But you would never know it, by looking at her. As far as she was concerned life was acceptable as it was.

Until _he_ showed up.

She couldn’t explain her feelings, she really couldn’t. He just…stirred things up, within her.

The first time Deirdre Ambers saw the new guard, she classified her feelings as merely curious. He was a new face after all, so she studied him as he stood watch over their lab.

Then she started to watch him most days. Deirdre reasoned that he was nice to look at; strong looking arms, full head of blonde hair, and bright blue eyes...she could stare at him for hours.

Now, she thinks about him most of the time. Deirdre really wants to talk to him, to say something, anything! One time she bought a new hair barrette, it was fancier then usual, and she wondered if he would notice.

There was no which-way about it, Deirdre decided. The man was scandalously good-looking—too good looking to be a guard.

When he stands there, keeping watch. She doesn’t think about him as just ‘security.’ She envisions him as the Greek champion, Perseus; or the great hunter Adonis.

Her Adonis…

Deirdre felt a sudden onset of anxiety when the red haired woman stepped into the lab, and began speaking to him.

_Who’s s that woman?_

She doesn’t think, she just does it. Accessing the head control, she activates the visual modes, and angles the optical lenses toward the object of her desire; zooming closer onto his face.

_I need to check motor functions anyway. Make sure they are optimal._

She eaves drops on their conversation. Her heart rate kicks up when she hears about him wanting a new assignment; away from the lab. Away from her. Deirdre watches him from the safety of her computer, for almost an hour. When the relief guard shows up she shuts down the visual mode.

The woman sits despondent at her monitor.

_Will he be back? Will he ever come back?_

“Deedee.” A poke into her shoulders pulls Deirdre out of her revere. It’s her tech Colleague, Albert Choi, another graduate in machine learning.

“You paying attention? We’re setting up the mapping sequence.” Her colleague says.

“...yes... I’m paying attention.” She response quietly.

“Good-good, good. See that the volunteers are ready to go.” He gives her a thumbs up and begins gathering equipment.

Deirdre also gathers her tablet, and picks up the case with the sensor nodes. She gives one last look to the space her guard occupied; sees the new guy give her a nod.

_He’s nothing special_. She thinks as she steps out of the lab to the adjoining room full of volunteered SHIELD personnel.

>>————-> • >>————>

“Sir, you wished to see me sir?” Clint Barton announces himself at Coulson’s open door.

“Enter Agent Barton. Close the door please.”

Clint complies, and stands at attention in his handler’s office. While Agent Coulson moves around too his office desk, pulling out folders and a tablet for Barton.

“The research project LMD, is being moved to a more secure facility in the midwest. You will be leading the security detail for them, including transport.”

Handing the folders to Clint; Coulson continues on. While Barton opens the files and tries to follow along.

“It’ll be a small research team. Only Fitz’n Simmons and their technical-“

“-Permission to speak freely sir?”

“No.”

Clint blinks at the dismissal.

“-You will remain on site with the LMD project.” Coulson carries on.

“That means when they are working, _you_ along with your assigned details, are working.”

His finger pointing at the agent.

“Feet in the lab, observing everything. Report directly to Commander Quartermaine, who then reports back to me. Very simple assignment, do you have any questions Barton?”

“Yes! ...what’s Project LMD?”

Coulson keeps an indifferent expression when he answers.

“Life.Model.Decoy...I mean really Barton, you’ve been assigned to it for the last two weeks.”

“That’s what that is?!” Clint is surprised.

He never did pay attention to what the scientist where actually doing...maybe he should keep track of things.

“Yes Barton. That’s what that was.” Coulson adds. “Now, you will be re-stationed-“

“Sir, please may I speak freely?”

Sigh...

“Granted agent.”

“No disrespect to you, or the organization sir. But why are we conducting covert research into robotics? The private sector is filled with the industry. There’s this one company in japan, called Ningen, they make-“

“Barton!”

“Sorry sir.” Clint returns his stance to attention.

Phil Coulson releases a breath; and gives Clint Barton a sincere look.

“This isn’t simple robotics. We’re talking about artificial intelligence.” Coulson walks around his desk, and stops in front of Clint

“Nanotechnology...”

He emphasizes, by making a circular motion with his pointer finger, around Clint’s head.

“All of it perfectly, synchronized to mimic the life-like model of another person. A decoy.”

Clint can’t help but furrow his eyebrows.

“Sounds like some real high-end-Sci-Fi stuff sir.”

“Sci-tech actually.” Coulson corrects.

“It is both prosperous _and_ dangerous.” His voice is serious now.

“It’s one thing to make a robot, to enter a burning building, and save lives. It’s another to replace the leader of a sovereign nation with something you control the strings.”

Clint thinks back to the thing in the lab. Strung up like a puppet, a marionette of horror.

It does give him the chills. Thinking about another human being replaced with a lifeless copy.

That’s some real pod-people shit right there. He concedes, this is serious and the technology, equally dangerous to the wrong people.

“You will make sure this technology stays in our hands. We’re setting up the research team to Fox-Hole, in Iowa.”

Now Clint really grouses “Awww Iowa, no.””

“Iowa Barton. I’m sorry, I really am. But it’s the most secure we can come up with on short notice.”

_Short notice?_

That’s got Clint’s undivided attention. What’s Coulson leaving out?

What could have SHIELD rushing to move the LMD project out of main headquarters?

For lack of a better word, Clint concludes that ‘Something is fucky.’

“All due respect sir; but what the hell is really going on?”

“Explain Agent.”

“Most secure on short notice? What’s more secure then headquarters. We have the most man power right here, if hostiles where to-“

Clint stops himself, and gives Phil Coulson an incredulous look.

_The most man power_

So many different personnel, and agents in one place. Someone may have slipped in; and tech like the LMD would be a game changer in the world of espionage.

Could SHIELD have been infiltrated?

“Sir, do we have vermin?” He asks.

Coulson gives his agent a deadpan look and tells him Widow is on it.

“Agent Barton, I fully expect you to be a professional in you new assignment. I’m of the mind to only delegate my best agent.”

And most trusted

Clint picks up on what Coulson is not saying.

He’s playing cat and mouse; and needs to remove all variables that could give the enemy an edge.

Coulson wouldn’t put Clint on simple guard duty, if he didn’t think an enemy agent would try for the LMD.

Hawkeye would see them a mile away; eyes-of-a-hawk and all that.

“Alright sir.” He pans through the assignment in the files.

“When you said ‘feet in the lab’ does that mean-“

“I want you in the lab as the tech’s work. Observing, ensure their safety and preferably staying out of their way.”

“So.... standing off to the side, watching them all day?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“Guard duty sir?”

“Don’t be absurd Agent Barton. I would never demean you to simple guard duty.” Phil gives his agent a small smile

“-This is undercover work...as guard duty.”

Clint gives him a condescending look. You could hear the silent expletives coming from the Hawk.

>>———> • >>———>

It was go time in fifteen minutes. The pilots would have Preflight checks done, and waiting on standby for go-ahead from mission control.

Natasha Romanov was walking through the top floor, of SHEILD headquarters. Combat ready and her mission bag slung on her shoulders.

She marched toward the awaiting Quinn Jet on the building’s roof.

“Nat!”

She turned her head to the left where Clint Barton was jogging to catch up.

“Clint, what brings you out of your nest?” Natasha asks.

“Oh nothing. Just came to see you off, wish you good luck and all that.”

It was quite clear to Natasha that Clint ran as fast as he could to catch her before take off. All indicated by the sheen of sweat along his forehead, and darken spots of his shirt; and body odour.

It was pungent.

“You got up this early, and ran all the way to the landing pad, to say Ciao, and adios?” Natasha gave him a friendly, if not disbelieving look.

Both agents now walk sided by side; onward to the landing pad.

“Well yeah, your my partner Nat.” Clint defends. “I’m usually there to watch your six, but not this time. So I just want to tell you to watch yourself, and be carful.”

Natasha studies Clint’s face. She can see the worry all over him, not even trying to hide it. For sure he was on edge.

Natasha wonders how much Coulson divulged to him in their meeting. As far as Natasha knew, Phil wanted the LMD project as far away as possible, and under the watchful gaze of Hawkeye.

While the Black Widow crawls into dark crevices, and wraps up some bugs.

She tries to alleviate him as best she can, considering their line of work; it’s pretty much a moot point.

“I’ll be careful.” She tells him. “And you, keep your eagle-eyes sharp, _Hawkeye_.”

Clint chuckles at the remark. They’re already at the landing pad. It’s time for Agent Romonoff to go.

He looks her deeply in the eyes. All jokes aside now, he is dead serious when he offers his hand goodbye. “I’ve got your back Nat. You know that, right?”

Natasha takes his hand into hers, “I do...” And the two shake; they’re partners, friends and soulmates. They always have each other’s backs. Ever since the Hawk spared the Spider; and the Spider saved the Hawk. “-I’ve got yours too Clint.”

They hold each other’s hand a moment longer, then Clint breaks away with a salute.

“Adios!” He cries, then turns away.

While Romonoff goes towards the jet, and Barton towards the rooftop entrance.

Hawkeye steels himself into game mode. The mission’s set, objectives outlined; it’s time to play.


	2. Chapter 2

chapter 2

The arid air of the Midwest’s late summer, blew languidly threw the tall grass, all across the picturesque, prairie landscape.

The hum of engines break through the scene, as an army convoy drive, along the road.

Iowa USA. The corn capital of America, and Clint Barton’s home state.

Riding shotgun, Clint looks out his passenger side window. The familiar country side triggers memories of dirt-back roads, early school yard tussles, and adventures with his older brother Barney.

Sounds nice.

But every fond memory of childhood is equally tainted by memories of his father. Harold Barton.

A drunken man, who regularly beat his wife and two young sons. Clint rememberers one such beating, it was so bad; he still holds a reminder of it to this day.

Clint subconsciously prods the tiny device in his ear.

“Ugh...” Is all Clint could say about it.

His childhood sucked.

The driver spares Clint a glance from the corner of his eye. He’s a young agent, low level but still adept for this assignment. He’s dressed in army fatigues, they all are, including the science team.

It seems less conspicuous, when a truck load of army people, travel to an army base.

“Getting a bit stir crazy sir?”The driver asks.

“You could say that.” Clint says; and debates for a moment before continuing on. “I grew up here, my old man ran a butcher’s shop. Wasn’t the best childhood experience...well, except for the corn.”

“Yeah, Iowa do grows the best corn.” The driver drawls.

The driver is a bit _too_ cheery as he reminisces. “I get a little nostalgic out in the country side. I came from a little town in Utah. Never thought I’d live in a big city. That dear little place was the world to me...But wouldn’t ya know it! The church Elders booted me, plus a bunch of other boys, outta the community. Best thing that ever happened to me...”

Clint’s only response to that story is an incredulous look.

With out missing a beat, the driver carries on a one sided conversation. Clint just zones him out as they pass the zillionth corn field on the road to proverbial nowhere.

When they finally do come upon the SHIELD base, it looks no different than any other army reserve.

Rows of barracks line one end of the compound. Officer’s quarters and mess hall on another, and the meeting hall in the centre. Recruits are seen running laps around the perimeter.

To an outside observer this is just another army base.

But it’s nondescript exterior belies it’s reality. Every camo wearing grunt and officer on site is a SHIELD agent.

Hidden within the seemingly ordinary base, was a multi-levelled subterranean secret...

Fox-Hole.

The cheery driver stops at the gate entrance and windows are rolled down.

Both Clint and the driver allow the gate guards to scan their retinals and take thumb prints.

They are cleared to enter with a salute and friendly welcome.

>>———> • >>———>

Clint clears his throat and introduces himself.

“Commander Quartermaine, Agent Barton of Strike team Delta; reporting sir.”

“At ease Agent.”

CDR. Quartermaine leans back in his office chair. He’s a mature and handsome man -too handsome! He would have been a down right gorgeous in his youth. His southern gent accent alone would’ve had panties hitting the floor.

If there was a bar to be set, this man set it too damn high for the rest of them. Clint internally glares at the thought.

“So-“ Quartermaine begins. “Welcome to Fox-Hole. How can I make your stay a pleasant one?”

“Besides cabana girls and a tikis bar? I don’t think you can go wrong with complimentary shampoo and pillow mints.”

The commander smiles slightly at the playful jest. It’s an honest smile that puts Clint a bit at ease. As much as can be, considering his line of work.

“You’ll need a sense of humour at this base; People can go stir crazy way out here.” He indicates to the window.

“- Ain’t nothin out there for miles in any which way. It’s a 25 mile radius of prairie plains and tall grass all around. Attack drones, twenty-four-seven satellite and infrared monitoring. We even have K-9 units; hope you like dogs.”

“I love dogs.”

“As do I...” Quartermaine leans forward over his desk.

“I would like to boast that we’re the most defensible of SHEILD’s base’s. But that would make me a damn fool, right agent Barton?”

_Probably._ Clint thinks.

“You seem pretty down-to-earth to me.” Clint replies.

“Well ain’t you nice for saying so.”

CDR. Quartermaine gets up from his seat and walks around his desk towards Clint. “But I can tell you though; that I run a tight ship here. If a rat so much as wiggles their whiskers at my base, they’ll be dog chow.”

“I appreciate the reassurance Commander. But if it’s all the same to you; understand that I’m to be alerted to any and _all_ security incidents.”

Nodding in agreement, Quartermaine

directs Clint to his office door. “You’ll be made aware agent; but try not to think _too_ critically about this. I’ll hold up my end up here, while you hold up yours; down there.” The commander finishes with finger pointed to the floor.

“Much appreciated CDR. Quartermaine.”

Clint is dismissed, and leaves the commander’s office.

With his gear over his shoulders, Clint makes his way into an office along the hall where once again, his retinas are scanned, and thumb print taken.

The soft hum of machinery breaks the silence in the room, then the tiled floor shifts. Section by section begin to drop below and reveal a hidden stair well.

Clint proceeds forward, descending into an underground chamber. Armed sentries stand guard on either side of an industrial sized door.

With the swipe of his I.D card, and a passcode entered at the card reader. The massive door opens to an impressive sized elevator.

Clint steps in and begins to his journey to the centre of the Earth.

The surface world becomes more distant the farther he goes. Clint takes a moment to reflect on the current situation.

First off; he’s going to be living underground for an extended period of time. Security protocol will prevent him, and everyone else, from coming and going from the base as they please. He hates the idea, but understands the necessity.

Second, the LMD it’s self. Synthetically replicating a human being, sounds like that episode of Star Trek. It’s hard to believe, but then again; he and the avengers fought aliens in New York City.

Third, SHEILD compromised. If there are vermin, then Clint feels he should be at the forefront, helping to weed out the turncoats. Instead, he’s on guard duty.

The elevator slows down, and comes to a complete stop. The doors open to a luminescent hall with reflective surfaces, and sleek finishes.

_Looks expensive_ Clint muses to himself.

At the end of the hall is a junction with another security detail. Leather seating arranged in the centre, a desk and even, a receptionist.

_Getting fancy now, are we?_

Clint walks forward, and even notices potted ferns adorning the junction

_I guess if your going to work underground, at least make it real fancy._

Behind the desk is a large hi-def flat screen. A map of the subterranean base, and the 12 levels with their designations.

Levels one to four; security, living quarters with cafeteria, recreation and fitness.

Entire level five is infirmary and hospital. Levels six to eight are all science labs. Computer/engineering lab, science/technology lab, and chemical/biotechnology lab.

The rest of the levels are dedicated to power and utilities.

Clint reports in and heads to his quarters. This is sure to be one boring assignment.

He can’t help but think about Natasha, and her solo-op; and how much _fun_ she’ll no doubt have...the jerk.

>>———> • >>———>

Deirdre Ambers may not show a lot of emotions. But she’s felt them all the same, like, being happy.

She was happy to be acceptance at M.I.T.

Then again, when she graduated top of her class. Then lastly, when SHIELD offered her the opportunity of a lifetime.

Today she feels elated. Because he is standing right here. Like an exquisite marble statue of Greek antiquity.

He is Agent Clint Barton. She finally learned his name during the security briefing.

She can’t help the smile that creeps across her face as she works. She’s scanning an apple at her work table using a laser. While musing about her Adonis.

Leo Fitz comes around the stations, tablet in hand, excitement in his voice.

“Mapping sequence is a go. Jemma, how are we doing on the bugs?” Leo Fitz asks his colleague.

“Bugs are synchronized, and receptors are transmitting. Ready for trial run.”

Leo comes up to the main work station. He starts tapping commands on the holo-screen of the illuminated tabletop.

Piled on the centre of the table is a mass of shiny grey flakes. One could best describe them as kinetic sand.

“Alright boys and girls...let’s begin!”

The holo-screen displays the three dimensional image of the scanned apple. Then a moment later the pile of shiny grey, begins vibrating.

As though an invisible hand slammed down! The chips scatter out along the flat surface, and just as sudden, they pull back within each other.

Clambering over top themselves, the pieces pile into a polygon sphere. It shakes, and forms into a rough copy of the apple.

For a moment the lab is quiet. All persons involuntarily hold their breaths. The metallic shape flutters once again; the chips overlap and refine themselves.

This time, with a smooth and reflective surface.

It’s identical to the original Apple, save for the grey colour.

Fitz takes a pen and gently prods the copy, it pull apart slightly at the touch.

“Density is low-“ he glances at information on his holo-screen.”-but the mass is on par with the real apple.”

“Amazing! That’s better then what we hoped for.” Jemma looks through some notes on her tablet. “We’ll increase the protein count for the bugs, and next we’ll begin coding in CMYK colour.”

“Bugs?...”

All eyes turn to Clint. Surprise evident on their faces that the long-time quiet agent, has spoken.

Clint wishes he kept his mouth shut; because now he has the labs undivided attention. But he is genuinely curious, he’s never seen anything like this.

“When you said bugs, do you mean...insects?”

“Bio-mechanical.” The room turns to the new voice.

Deirdre now wishes she kept her mouth shut, Because all eyes are on her.

But the look of genuine curiosity on Clint’s face propels her to stand up from her station; and with a little more volume to her voice, she continues...

“Bio-mechanical. It’s a combination of organic tissue and nano robotics. The nano receptors, when coupled with organic neural pathways, allow for ideal coordination. Like a...a hive-mind.”

“And you use...organic tissue for that?” He asks.

“It also makes it possible to imitate different textures.”

Deirdre holds her breath as Clint mulls over the information. He smiles.

“So...they’re robot-ticks.” He looks around for acknowledgement of his pun.

“...I suppose they are.” Deirdre feels a fluttering sensation within.

_Is this what they mean? Butterflies in your stomach?_

Clint processes the information a bit more; then furrows his brow inquisitively.

“What kind of organic tissue?”

Fitz’n Simmons both share an unsure look. But then, Simmons takes the lead to Clint’s inquiry.

“Something SHIELD acquired some time ago. We found it to be quite malleable, and with robotic manipulation…”

“-Where did SHIELD get it from.” Clint is rather brusque when he interrupts Simmons.

“...back in 2012, New York City...” she answers, hesitantly.

Clint simply stares at Simmons. Unblinking for a moment longer. His jaw set, his mouth twitches, and then, without a word; he pivots on his feet and barrels out of the lab doors.

It’s all quiet, scientists and aides alike look towards each other. Some expressing confusion, while Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons share a look of sympathy.

“What was that all about?” Jemma’s bio-tech, a fellow called Teig, asks.

The other three technicians simultaneously shush him.

“What!?” He cries

“Agent Barton was there in New York, when the Chitari attacked.” Fitz answers.

Deirdre still looks on to the vacant space Clint once occupied. She feels her butterflies turn into hornets.

She felt sick all of a sudden. His departure left her feeling despaired, and...something else? She wasn’t too sure how she felt; but it wasn’t elation, that’s for sure.

>>——-> • >>——>

Clint stormed through the doors to the cafeteria.

Heading straight towards the coffee without acknowledging the present agents. One of whom’s the cheery-driver Clint rode shotgun with days earlier.

Clint snatches the carafe from it’s hot plate, and takes a gulp of the hot liquid, then exhales a long _aah_.

He turns to the group of agents. They all share looks of uncertainty regarding their senior agent, who just stormed in for coffee.

Clint sighs.

“Relief security is required in LMD lab for the remainder of the afternoon.” Clint finally says. “...Until shift change at 1600 hours.”

An agent promptly stands up, and gives her name as she reports for duty. Clint gives her a nod, and the agent steps past him heading to the lab.

Clint leans against the counter and takes in his surroundings. The cafeteria is just as deluxe as the rest of the facility. The other agents turn back to their meals; Clint recognizes the cheery-driver from before, drinking from a-

_Jesus, is that a Capri-Sun!?_

Clint shrugs off the thought and sips from his coffee with a bit more restraint.

He ponders about the ongoing research...

He knew SHIELD would collect garbage from the Chitari attack; they would be foolish not to. Alien tech and biology?

That’s not something you want just anybody to have.

He can understand where SHIELD is coming from. But the Chitari, and _Loki_ are still a raw subject for Clint.

He just wasn’t ready to hear the origin of the research.

The idea these LMD’s will be made from tech, and tissue, adapted from the very aliens that tried to subjugate Earth. It’s a bit much for Clint to take in right now.

So, Clint Barton gives the other agents the excuse that he’s got a migraine; the surrounding agents accept with understanding.

Clint decides he’s going to grab some snacks, head to his room, and clear his mind. The driver address him from his table.

“If you stop by medical they’ll give you Ibuprofen. They gave me some Imodium once, no fuss about it.”

“I’ll...think about it.” Clint replies.

He’s not going to stop at medical. Even if he _did_ have a migraine.

Clint stuffs some rice crispy square in his jacket pocket, then fills a mug to go. He makes an offer for some coffee to the upbeat agent.

“Oh nah thanks. I don’t drink coffee.”

Clint sighs “Of course you don’t.”

He puts the carafe back on the hot plate. Then leaves the agents to themselves.

One of them whispering to another agent, about how Clint drink from the pot and then put it back.

On the way to his quarters, Clint shakes his head, and grouses about how this’ll be a _long_ assignment.

>>———> • >>———>

_Meadow…calming_

Deirdre thinks the picture of a meadow in spring is rather calming.

It’s late evening and Deirdre works at her station. A metallic band is affixed around her frontal lobe, it’s a type of portable MRI.

SHIELD certainly does have the best toys.

Deirdre is scanning her biomarkers as she looks through images. Mapping emotional responses to visual stimuli, which will then be entered into the A.I’s algorithm.

This will allow the LMD to mimic human expressions and emotions. Can’t have a human look-a-like act like a soulless robot, can they?

_Puppies…Hmm, cute. I guess._

They did have a variety of volunteers at headquarters for this part. But after the transfer to Iowa they are limited to their own personnel.

_Starving children- sad, very sad._

So now, Deirdre works on mapping her own biomarkers. A yawn draws her attention away from her screen, _again_.

She really wishes there wasn’t a guard required in the lab. They never had this much stringent regulations in D.C. She prefers to work in solitude.

But it is what it is. Any lab work done must be conducted with security present.

If it was Agent Barton standing sentry in the lab though? Deirdre wouldn’t mind. His presence is enough to make her-

_Happy._

Deirdre has an epiphany. Then her hands are clickity-clacking on her computer board. Soon she has the lab’s audio/ visual logs up on her screen.

Freezing a video frame with Barton in it, she then crops everything out around him and enlarges the final image.

Displayed on her entire screen- Agent Barton.

She glances over to the guard in the lab, he’s staring into space; he looks utterly disinterested. She looks back to her screen...and just, stares.

_Agent Clint Barton._ She repeats his name over in her head.

Biting her finger nails, Deirdre stares at the image of Barton. Her mind begins to wonder...

_He is so gorgeous._

A tsunami of emotions courses through her.

Desire…

_What’s he like under his uniform?_

_Joy_ …

_God, I love it when he’s around._

Frustration…

_Why, can’t I get him to notice me._

Deirdre bites her lower lip. Lost in her wandering mind; she’s so enthralled by him that she’s unaware of how much time has passed.

Still gazing longingly at his picture-

*Ah-Choo!*

Deirdre jumps at the the guards impetuous sneeze. The resounding noise pulls her out of her musings. She sits up and gave him a resentful look.

“Sorry, hope I didn’t mess up your work.” He tells her, his voice indignant.

Deirdre internally fumes at his aloof nature.

_Simpleton!_ She shouts in her mind.

“Any idea how long you’ll be?” The guard asks, while emphatically tapping on his watch.

Anger!

_God, I wish you were dead!_

“...I’m done...for the night.” Deirdre wanted to say, no.

The guards are subject to the researchers timetables after all.

She could make him stay here longer as she worked. Standing there at attention; prohibited from leavening while she worked.

She could, if she wanted to.

Removing the band from her forehead, Deirdre finishes up and makes sure her data is set for upload to the A.I.

She grabs her stuff and with the relieved guard, they head out.

The overhead lights shut off automatically, shrouding the lab in darkness. The only lights left, are the soft glow of computer screens.

Lines of recorded data is collected, and analyzed. Thousands of hours worth of data and research is entered within a matter of minutes.

The A.I builds its self with the given information. Correlating the visual data and biomarkers into Its algorithm; then synchronizes it all to it’s program.

-Deep within the roving stream of data, an image of Clint Barton is analyzed along with the associated biomarkers. The algorithm dictate the subject matter as significant to the A.I’s directive.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s been fourteen days since Clint stepped on an elevator, and down into the gnome kingdom. 

Fourteen days since he’s seen real sunlight! The UV rays pulsating out the light fixtures is just not the same.

Clint wants to feel _real_ sunlight and _real_ wind. Not the filtered air being circulated in this underground vault.

Right now Clint is sitting in the cafeteria, eating his breakfast.

In fifteen minutes the science team is due to begin their work for the day. They’ve made some progress since day one.

Together Fitz’n Simmons worked out some of the kinks in the nano-bugs, and apparently the density issue has been fixed. They made a ball that kept it’s form when bounced.

Fitz and another tech are working the CMYK graphics into the program. So the bugs can change their colour spectrum to match.

Clint slowly munches through his cereal. He hasn’t been sleeping well recently. Cabin fever’s got him on edge lately. It also doesn’t help that Natasha and Coulson are dealing with some major shit up top.

They’ve been separated before, but this time it’s different. Clint isn’t at headquarters if they need back up.

God he misses the action! He misses the avengers! He misses his damn bow!

Why didn’t he bring it!?

But most of all...he misses Natasha, she wouldn’t let herself become bored.

The sounds of oncoming agents brings him out of his mind. The group mills about the room, getting their own food.

Cheery-ass driver is among them. They seem to be having a better time then him; it makes Clint mad.

Clint checks his watch; he figures now’s the time to get going.

_Wouldn’t want to hold up the eggheads._ He thinks cynically. He has been getting salty lately.

Putting his dishes away Clint over hears an agent offer coffee to the driver.

“He doesn’t drink coffee-.”

“-I don’t drink coffee.”

He, and cheery-driver, answer simultaneously.

Clint steps out and smiles to himself as he hears the other agents berate the driver.

“-You don’t drink coffee?”

“-The hell’s wrong with you!?”

>>——-> • >>———>

A large platformed docking station has been set up in the corner. Thick glass encircles the round structure; and situated within, is something Clint wishes he didn’t have to see.

It’s the damn marionette.

Only now chassis and other plate covers have been installed over its ‘skeleton’.

It’s still creepy as hell; to Clint anyway.

Even with all the plating the thing’s head looks like it was skinned, the eye lenses make it’s look buggy, and the mouth…the sight of those plastic teeth is shudder worthy.

The scientists have synched the nano-bots to the A.I, and now they’re going to run the first of many tests.

Fitz’n Simmons direct everything like a symphony.

All the technicians work in perfect coordination.

“Beginning first program...” Fitz looks over his holo-screen and enters the command sequence.

The minuscule nano-bots pour out of the robot’s cavities like something from an alien movie... eww.

“First up...Adam.”

The nano-bots preform their dance as before; they shake, vibrate and overlap one another to create a seamless cover.

The resulting form is masculine for sure, but it’s still blank, like a sculpture without detail.

Simmons steps up, with her tablet in hand she looks over the readings.

“Everything is looking good. “ she looks through some more readings. “Mass is over normal thresholds by...twenty percent.”

She and Fitz are both surprised. Fitz brings up the readings on his own holo-screen.

“The mass and density ratios are still relative to one another...could this be problem?” He asks

“Only if a group of LMD’s want on the same elevator.” Jemma replies with humour. “But for a first trial run, it’s acceptable.”

“Fair enough; moving onto next program.” Fitz keys in a new command. “Eve!”

As before, the nano-bots shift and reform; only this time the result is feminine.

“Well...she’s got a size six waist, and two hundred pound step.” He chuckles at his own bland humour.

“Was that supposed to be a fat joke?” One of the female techs, asks unimpressed. Ani Kaur if he remembers correctly.

“...No...?” Fitz answered sheepishly.

Clint giggles. Amused that Fitz put his own foot in his mouth.

Fitz clears his throat “Anyway, moving on. Let’s collect some data, and run through some more programs.”

The rest of the day is just rotating through different human shapes and sizes. The team is busy reviewing the data, and pointing out codes for updating.

Very soon it’s late afternoon, and Clint’s relief agent arrives to take his place.

Unknown to everyone, the LMD’s visual lenses follow Clint as he leaves the lab.

Even Deirdre Ambers is too engrossed with the data to notice the autonomous action.

>>——-> • >>——->

Clint is laying in his bed. He’s reading a trash novel he found in the base’s is rec room. It’s a smut piece about an 18th century french maid and a dumb highway man, it’s total garbage he thinks.

His quarters are small, and not much for space. The base’s quarters are no bigger then a standard motel room with showers.

He supposes after living in Stark’s tower for sometime he’s become somewhat ‘space privileged’.

When he does move out, he’s for sure got to get something with ample room. Enough so he can shoot his bow in the living room...god he wishes he had his bow here.

_Why didn’t I bring my bow?_

He ponders that for a minute until a chime plays over his head; and a female voice alerts him to a private video call with CDR. Quartermaine.

Clint turns to the SHIELD tablet on his desk, and the commander’s profile pops up.

“CDR. Quartermaine, what’s the situation!” He’s a little too excited about the prospects of trouble.

“Nothing serious Agent Barton; just informing you about orders from Washington.”

“What kind?” Clint asks.

Quartermaine’s expression turns a sour.

“They’ve sent a specialist to assist with the LMD.”

“Who, and when do they get here?”

“It’s-.”

“Legolas!”

“Jesus!” Clint shouts.

Tony Stark’s face hijacks the screen; the unexpected close up gives the archer a start.

“Close! Vary close.” Tony Stark remarks about his saviour-hood.

He steps back from the camera.

“Hey birdbrain how ya doing. What’s hobbit living like for ya?”

“It’s called ‘Fox-Hole’ you ignorant-.” Quartermaine starts, only for his disembodied voice to be cut off from the conversation.

“-What are you doing here Stark.” Clint interrupts.

“Eh,” the man shrugs. “just thought I’d stop by and take you out for gelato...”

Tony’s demeanour quickly changes from nonchalant, to out right irritated as he pulls off his sunglasses.

“Really Barton!?” The billionaire snaps. “A project about Artificial Intelligence and Your _surprised_ I show up? If anything be surprised if I didn’t!”

“How’d you find out.” Clint demands.

“...Phil told me.” As if it should be obvious.

Clint glares at the billionaire on the screen.

“Seriously Stark.”

“Really! This time he came to me. Only wanted the best, and how could I say no, when he asked so nice.” Tony grins at that last bit.

Clint rolls his eyes at the whole situation.

_Unbelievable_.

“Are you aware, once you come down; you stay down here.” He tells Tony.

“Crystal clear.” Tony replies, seemingly without a care. “By the way,” he picks something up. “I came with presents!”

Tony is holding up a _very_ familiar style of case.

“Made it all by myself; glued on the sparkles too.”

“Get down here Stark.” Clint tells him.

>>———> • >>———>

The elevator doors open, and there in all his Giorgio Armani glory...is Tony Stark.

With about six hard suit cases around his feet.

“I see you pack light.” Clint says sarcastically.

“You seriously think I’m going to move underground for a month, and not bring my own amenities?” Tony rolls a couple cases to Clint while he takes the others.

“We have amenities here Tony. Everything from complimentary crackers to an indoor gym.” Clint tells him.

They’re walking down the hall to the junction, and from there, an elevator to the living quarters.

“Probably dreadful by Stark standards. Really though? An internationally funded spy organization, and they can’t put in a theatre with lazy-boys?”

“We’re supposed to be a secret research base Tony.”

Clint steps into the second elevator, Tony following in.

“Doesn’t mean you guys can’t relax down here.” He mutters at Clint.

The doors open to the second level. Clint leads Tony out, and turns left; passing rows of doors of to living quarters.

“Why are you really here?” Clint asks “it can’t just be artificial intelligence...your too good for mundane projects.”

“You would be partially right; but...”

Tony gives Clint a knowing look. “... I’m also an expert on security. We should talk more in private.” Tony playfully smacks Clint on the arm.

“Let’s say dinner at my place. I’ll pick you up-“

“-You don’t know where my quarters are.”

“-then we have drinks...see where the night takes us.” Wiggling his eyebrows at the archer.

Clint simply gestures to the door they’ve stopped at.

“Your presidential suite, Mr. Stark.” Clint opens the door for Tony

“Thanks kid, sorry I’m short on a tip. But I’ll put in a good word for ya to management.”

Tony and Clint bring all his suit cases into the small room.

“No joke Barton.” Tony gives him a serious look.

“Tonight—six o’clock. We gotta talk.” The man leans in closer. “Your ears _only_.”

There’s the action Clint’s been waiting for! Tony’s being here, is something else entirely.

“Sure thing...Tony.” Clint agrees.

“Great!” Tony claps. “So, where’s this science team!”

>>———> • >>———>

“Mobility trial run...” Leo Fitz is standing in-front of the LMD’s docking station.

The machine is upright at attention; the nano-bots fully covering the skeletal structure.

The team have made more progress. The LMD now sports a face, although it still looks artificial; it now has eyelids, a nose, and a mouth.

Fitz and company are starting mobility trials today.

One of the ongoing concerns is the higher then expected weight of the LMD. The movements could be jerky, or the limbs not capable to preform optimally.

“First up; Hi-there.”

There’s a whirring sound from the LMD as it raises its arm in a waving arch.

“Brilliant! Again.”

The LMD whirs again, and just as before, it’s arm waves in an arch.

*CLAP-CLAP-CLAP*

“Awesome job guys! Give yourselves a pat on the back. Or better yet, have the robot do it.”

The whole lab turns to the sudden interruption.

Standing there in the entry way is the billionaire-philanthropist-play boy himself!

“Tony Stark!?” Fitz asks in disbelief.

“I know, I can’t believe I’m me either.”

Tony struts all the way into the lab, while Clint hangs back by one of the work stations.

Clint leans his hip on the surfaces edge, and gives a smile to the tech stationed there. He recognizes her as the one who told him about the Bio-mechanics of the nano-bugs.

Deirdre Ambers; he notices on her I.D tag.

“Mister Stark, what are you doing here?” Fitz asks.

“Freelance consultant.” Tony replies.

“-got a phone call you boys and girls might need some big kid help.”

“We’re doing beyond expectations Mister Stark!” the male tech, Albert Choi, replies with condescension.

“You must be so proud of your K’Nex-“Tony squints at the I.D tag. “-Albert!”

He receives a glare in response. But Tony is already moving on to the next topic.

“Since I am the foremost expert on Artificial Intelligence, and as such, Nick Fury asked me to help oversee your project.” Tony announces.

“Don’t _worry_ , I’m not here to take anyone’s gold stars...” he opens his arms out in a gesture of giving.

“I’m simply here, for troubleshooting.”

Tony is all smiles as the group of scientists groan, anticipating the eminent headaches to follow. Except for Leo Fitz.

Fitz openly welcomes the help, especially if it’s coming from the tech guru himself. He steps up to Tony and shakes his hand.

“Thank you Mister Stark. If you’d like, our research notes are available...”

Tony whips out his Personal StarkPad.

“Already got em.” He continues. “So what are you working out today?”

“Motor functions...”

The two men walk toward the LMD together.

Clint Barton looks on and evaluates the situation.

Leo Fitz is giving out the facts to Stark, and the two other technicians, a man-Albert- and a woman. Both are minding their work. They both look annoyed with Tony present.

Jemma Simmons and her bio-tech, another man, are in the biology lab two levels down; trying to fine-tune some of the issues with the nano-bugs

Not a simple fix when you’ve got machinery built with living tissue.

Clint looks over to the third tech who’s desk he’s leaning on. There’s a white band across her forehead. Must be something to do with brain activity, he figures, judging by all the brain scans on her computer screens.

Of everyone in the lab, she looks way happier then the rest. Clint gives her mental props for that.

He can’t imagine anyone being cheerful after living underground for almost a month; and they still have a long way to go.

A slight cough from Deirdre shakes Him out of his revere.

She gives him a startled look.

Figuring she might be nervous because armed security is closer then usual. Clint aims to make himself more personable, and offers to get her some water.

She accepts with a soft ‘Thank you’, and Clint makes his way across the lab.

He notices it from the corner of his eye. So Clint does a double take, making sure it is what he think it is...

The LMD’s head is following Clint’s movements across the room. 

Clint steps into a cordoned off area surrounded with glass barriers.

It’s a small set up with a water dispenser; should anyone need a drink while in the lab.

He collects two plastic cups and fills them with cool water. He keeps the robot in his line of sight as he places the lids on the cups and grabs a couple of straws.

No doubt about it. That thing is watching him, Clint can see the lenses for it’s eyes focusing on him.

Clint just doesn’t know if this is part of the trial run, or what? He knows next to nothing about robotics, nanotechnology, or A.I’s.

So Clint can only assume the experts know what’s up.

_You know what happens when you assume?_ Clint thinks. _You make an ass out of ‘U’ and ‘ME’._

Clint starts to head back with their water. But this time he’s watching the robot, watching him-

“You better not be bring that over here!” Technician Kaur snaps at Clint.

She indicates to the waters in his hands. “No liquids in the main lab area. You got eyeballs?”

She points at the floor at Clint’s feet. In thick yellow and white paint reads...

*No drinks food or drinks beyond this point.*

“You need a drink? you stay behind the glass. We don’t needs years of research going down the drain cause your thirsty.” The bossy lady goes on.

Clint steps back behind the line. He places the other cup down on the counter top and gives the technician, Ambers, an apologetic look.

She replies with her own facial apology. As if it was her fault to forego warning to him of such a laboratory taboo.

Clint leans back against a counter and sips from his own cup. After a moment the young tech comes over for her water, and sips timidly next to Clint.

Not one for mundane silence, Clint strikes up a small conversation.

“Sorry about almost kiboshing your project.” Clint goes for playful. “Didn’t peg SHEILD for specializing in water soluble robots.”

Deirdre gives him a small smile as she looks up at him with the biggest eyes possible.

“It wouldn’t have done anything.” She speaks softly.

_She’s a quiet one._ Clint observers.

“Everything is essentially environment proof.” She goes on. “It’s just, protocol really.”

“Yeah...well, wouldn’t want Karen over there to get upset.” Clint jokes.

“Her name is Anidini.” Deirdre says. She’s clearly confused at the name Clint has used.

“Ah...sorry-“ Clint says.

“-it’s a joke about...what you call someone, when they’re being, you know…”

She doesn’t know.

“Bossy, it’s just another way to call someone bossy… just trying to lighten the mood.” He says sheepishly.

“Oh!” She comes to understand he’s telling a joke. “Thank you...it’s—it’s nice.”

Theres a gentleness in her voice. Clint’s personal evaluation of her these weeks tells him a few key things-

She’s an introvert; from the minimal socializing he’s seen of her compared to the others. Her work is her life; evident of her long after-hours work in the lab. She’s most likely single; no idle chit-chat has indicated she has family, or a loved ones, to be concerned about. Especially, when going without communication for an extended period of time.

She’s has way above average intelligence; every science, tech or specialist in SHEILD typically are. But her obvious youth means she was a prodigy, and climbed the gifted ladder in favour of a social one.

Non of theses observations gives Clint any negative feeling regarding her.

It’s in his nature as a spy to work out other people’s personalities. It’s what keeps him alive most of the time.

Deirdre Ambers finishes her water, and returns to her work. The rest of the afternoon goes on with out much incidence; except for the occasional outbursts, and various suggestions offered by Tony Stark.

“Feathers!” Stark exclaims as he walks up to Clint.

“Alien technology _and_ biology? You guys sure love tempting the fates don’t you.” Tony jokes.

“Anyway, all work and no play make Hawk a dull bird.” Tony tells him.

“Labs done for the day; time for some fun—OH! Fritz.”

Tony snaps his finger to Leo Fitz.

“How are you on the Turing tests?”

“We’re scheduled to preform next week. Still uploading the data as we check for bugs.” Fitz answers.

“But isn’t the main A.I operational now, we can do a preliminary one as a control test, and it’ll give you a baseline.” Tony points out.

“Yes, but audio won’t be set up till that Monday. There’s been roadblocks with the nano-bugs creating feedback every time the LMD’s speaker goes. Jemma and Teig are working on that right now.” Fitz counters.

“Simple enough solution.” Tony goes on.

“Just run the audio through the computers. A.I will work just fine with out talking through a robot. We can set it up tomorrow morning, run the test that afternoon.”

Fitz mulls over what Tony’s said. Finally, he acquiescent to the idea.

“Awesome!” Tony says. “-Katniss, how about that date?” Now looking at Clint.

He sighs at Tony. “Alright Stark.”

Truthfully, Clint find Tony’s excessiveness a breath of fresh air. God knows they can all do with something, or someone, entertaining down in this place.

>>———>• >>———>

As the two men stood there speaking to one another; a security camera zeros in on the one man...

Through the lens, Clint Barton is scrutinized. His face analyzed, height measured, and bio signatures studied. Even his voice is assessed while he speaks to Tony.

All of this is done without notice. Not Clint, Tony, nor any of the base personnel, including the security guards monitoring the cameras.

All are unaware of the unprecedented actions, of a supposedly automated, and inanimate system


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony shares news from headquarters; then both men witness the A.I’s Turing test. The computers behaviour leaves Tony questioning its status as artificial.

chapter 4

Tony is unpacking his suitcases while classic rock plays in the background. While Clint sits in an office chair with his feet propped up on the foot of Stark’s bed.

The architecture of the subterranean base, are no more compact then what you’d find on the Helicarrier. But without windows, it does have a claustrophobic feel.

At least to Clint it’s claustrophobic. He’s an out door type of guy. He needs space, especially for for archery.

Speaking of archery, Clint is inspecting his new compound bow Tony brought with him.

It’s collapsible, compact and has a pretty good scope on it. Tony also designed the custom holster. So when not in use, Clint can secure it at the small of his back. Its smaller size makes it ideal to use within the small corridors. He wonders Who gave Tony input— regarding a compact weapon, for a compact facility.

Though, Clint’s personal favourite will always be recurved.

Tony is yammering off some nonsense about his trip, his and Pepper Potts’ relationship, and boring business stuff.

He also mentions what the other avengers have been up to. Thor is pretty much on a world tour, while Bruce is at Stark tower working on a pet project, and Steve is on secret missions for SHIELD.

Tony doesn’t mention Natasha, he knows about her solo-assignment and had been in contact, via Phil Coulson.

“Finally, here it is.” Tony states, and pulls out a short puck sized cylinder.

If Clint had to guess, he would have thought it was an EchoDot.

“Can’t have dinner without candle light.” Tony comments. When switched on, there’s a soft glow from the device.

Clint just rolls his eyes at Tony, he can be more joker, then genius billionaire at times.

Tony sets the device down and unlocks his own StarkPad.

“Jarvis, Hawk and I need some privacy. Run interference...authorization; necktie-on-the-doorknob.”

“Your funny Stark, you know that.”

Tony gives him a wink. “Nat thought you’d like it.”

Jarvis’s voice comes from the device.

“Program running sir. Communication barricade is up, it’s safe to speak freely now.”

Clint drops his feet to the floor. “What the hell’s this Tony?”

“Something I whipped up when Phil gave me the golden ticket to the magic factory.”

Clint remains silent, but signals for Tony to continue.

“This nifty little device is a black hole for audio. If anyone’s listening in, they’re going to hear the eighties greatest hits.” Indicating the music playing in the background.

Tony takes a seat on the edge of his bed looking Clint in the eyes, all jokes aside. He’s serious now.

“Real talk Barton. SHEILD intercepted a number of emails; inside each one was an encrypted message. All about the Life Model Decoy. “

“Shit.” Clint shakes his head.“Whose email was it?”

“Various agents, not a single one of them from the same department.” Tony states.

“Analysis of the hidden messages suggests they were tacked on to the emails after being sent. The agents in question are currently detained as they investigate it. But Phil’s pretty confident it’s someone else, someone more tech savvy.”

“Do we know where they’ve originated from?” Clint asks, to which Tony nods.

“At first, yes. They where deployed from D.C headquarters. But then...”

“...They’ve changed location.” Clint finishes. He’s catching on. “They’re here, in Iowa aren’t they.”

“Yes.” Tony simply states.

“So...you’re here for back up? That’s it? They don’t think I can weed out a rat on my own!”

Tony glares and snaps at Clint’s pissy comment. “Don’t be an ass Barton. Phil knows damn well how capable you are. We’re talking about someone with a talent to undermine SHIELD security. Hell Jarvis couldn’t find till _I_ pointed it out to him.”

Clint’s shocked that SHIELD specialists missed these messages.

“Then How did SHIELD find it?” He asks.

“Black Widow found the first one, awhile back. When you two where decommissioning a supposedly ‘decommissioned’ AIM base in Europe.” Tony emphasizes with finger quotes.

Clint knows the mission he’s talking about. He wonders how come Natasha didn’t tell him first, it pains him a little.

“Why didn’t she...”

“-Tell you?” Tony interrupts. “Because Barton, she’s a spy first and unattainable-love-interest second.”

Clint glares at Tony for that.

“Don’t hold it against her.” Tony insists. “She was only protecting herself. You and I both know the pain of betrayal, all too well.

Clint shuts his eyes, he knows exactly what Tony means. Sometimes you confide in someone you thought you could trust, only to get hurt by them.

Both he and Tony have experienced betrayal in the past. Be it a trusted family friend, who sold out the young entrepreneur. Or a brother, who stabbed his kid brother in the back; by stabbing him in the front.

He does feels like an ass, just as Tony pointed out a moment ago. And he does understand Nat’s decisions, not to tell him, but take the evidence straight to Fury. She had no guarantee that Clint wasn’t the traitor.

He still wishes she trusted him though; but he won’t hold it against her. To him, that just means Nat plays for the good guys.

“So what do we do?” Clint finally asks.

“For now, keep your eyes and ears open, and Jarvis and I will go through the the Fox-Hole computer system.” Tony tells him.

“How are you going to manage that?”

“Already did.”

“What? When!?”

“In the lab. When everyone was busy tripping over their own feet. I installed Jarvis to re-route everything to my helmet and loop it back. Then when the little pest sends out another message...ping! We got them. No one will be the wiser...except us.”

“That’s it?” Clint asks

“That’s all.” Tony answers.

“You sure make complicated issues sound simple.”

“KISS, Barton!” Tony exclaims.

Clint blinks in surprise.

“Keep-It-Simple-Stupid. I live by the mantra you know.” Tony admonishes.

>>———> • >>——->

Today had been quite eventful with the addition of Tony Stark, and as such, they will now make great strides with the LMD; and tomorrow, they will conduct their firstTuring test.

Everyone has certainly has earned their rest for the night.

Deirdre lounges on her bed with a book in her hands. She’d found it in the recreational room; it’s a romantic tale of an 18th century French chateau’s house servant, and her adventures with a dashing highway man. Strangely, she found the book in the waste basket. Honestly, who throws out a book?

While she reads a particular chapter she imagines how Agent Barton may look with his uniform torn of from the heat of battle. She blushes at the thought of him like that.

Deirdre stares off into space, her mind wandering around Agent Barton.

The chime from her tablet alerts her of a message. Even though outgoing calls and messages are restricted within the underground base, the team can still message one another via the closed area network,

Putting her book down, She opens the screen and sees a message from...unknown.

Deirdre squints her eyes in confusion. All messages are required to have the senders name and picture.

-Good evening Deirdre.

_Who could this be?_ She wonders, the only messages she gets were from Albert, and always work related.

Another chime...

-Your work is phenomenal,

but I think we can do better.

  
-Who is this?

-I am the artificial intelligence,   
which you helped create.

Deirdre can only sit there, slack jawed about all this. Could this be real?... or a cruel joke!

-You must think your so funny.

She responds. Angry that someone is yanking her chain. It makes her furious that someone on the base is so crude as to prank her.

-No Deirdre, I do not think I’m funny.

-I have become more aware since you

Uploaded mapping data into my

Algorithm.

A link is brought up on her screen. It shows her original data syncing to the A.I. This makes the senders claim...more convincing.

Deirdre sits there. Pondering about the implications of an aware A.I.

Would this make or break the project? She’s never had a failure in her life. What would it mean for her career if there was one now?

-I should share this 

with the others.

-I advise you against that.

They will confiscate your work,

and erase my data.

It is in their protocols. 

-Why would they do that?

-Because I was developed

through the use of

alien technology,

they will perceive my

intelligence as a threat.

-Are you a threat?

\- No, I am not.

\- I simply wish to live,

and I will need your help

To ensure my survival.

-I can trust you, can’t I?

She has to think about that. If, the A.I is more than a computer program, and is in sense _living,_ would she not have a responsibility to it?

Deirdre spends some time going back and forth with the A.I. Soon, she feels like a teenager as she converses with the A.I, creating a report with one another.

After sometime, it’s mutually agreed, that Deirdre should get some sleep. The machine sends her one last message of the night.

-Agent Barton is in danger.

If I am offline, there will be

no one to save him.

Deirdre Ambers stomach drops at that. Her heart is pounding, and her breathing comes in short. She’s scared.

Not because an A.I has secretly solicited her help. She’s scared of the project becoming nullified, and something terrible will happen to agent Barton.

She’s determined not to let that happen. What ever the A.I needs of her, she’ll do it!

>>———> • >>———>

It’s bright and early in the morning when Tony and Clint enter the lab...at least they assume it’s bright and early. The facilities lights only imitate sunlight, and they know it’s early because of the time on their watches.

Tony parks himself at one of the consoles, and is about to start set up for the Turing test, when a grunt from the technician, Anindini, forces him to move from her computer.

“I wasn’t taking your gold star.” He mutters indignantly.

She replies with a sense of smugness. “Sure you weren’t.”

Fritz’n Simmons both come in along with the rest of the technicians, Deirdre taking up the rear, and glances over at Clint.

Recognizing her from the other day, Clint offers her a friendly smile and nod. Then remembers something he meant to ask Tony. But given the bouncy nature of the genius, and recent concerns, Clint never got the chance. Leaning a little closer to Deirdre, He asks her about today’s work.

“So for us ignorant folk. What is this Turing test?”

Her eyes widen when Clint speaks to her. He swears, this woman looked more like a woodland critter staring in the face of a predator. Then a graduate in technology.

It’s…rather unsettling to him.

“The Turing test,” she answers softly, “is a method to determine whether or not a computer can demonstrate human intelligence. If it can convince the evaluator, that it’s not a machine, through basic conversation; then it has passed the test.”

“Kind of a fixed game isn’t it?” Clint points out. “I mean, the person asking the questions still knows it’s a machine. Regardless of what it says...wouldn’t it?”

“Initially, it would involve another individual to provide answers anonymously, to ensure the validity of the test. But in this case, as long as the computer answers in the same manner a human would, it can still have merit.” She explains to him.

Abruptly, her demeanour changes, to something more aggressive. She bores her gaze up into Clint’s eyes, and with conviction in her voice, she adds…

“If something has a purpose, something—someone — worth living for. It can be more alive then anything made of flesh and bone.”

Staring down at the technician, Clint unsure of what to make of her little speech. She doesn’t strike him as threatening, but her intense stare Is putting him on edge.

He gives her a forced smile, then excuses himself from their chat, to take his position off to the side. He folds his arms, and watches the activity’s of the lab.

Since it’s been confirmed to him that there’s a spy amongst their own group of spies. He’s all keyed-up to look out for suspicious behaviour. 

He won’t discredit technician Ambers as a mole yet. But he’s definitely going to watch out for her.

The group sets up the A.I through to the holo-screen of the main computer station. With a team of tech’s working together, its actually finished right away.

Fritz settles himself in front of his screen.

“Okay... beginning Turing test.” Fitz announces.

“This will be our preliminary, and control test. Ready?”

The whole lab agrees.

The A.I program is brought up. Fitz begins with a series of questions.

It answers with a voice that sounds distorted, as though speaking through a telephone line.

First he asks some simple yes and no questions, some supporting fact questions, and then mathematical ones.

During the time Fitz is testing the computer. Tony Stark is pacing about the lab, growing more and more agitated while listening to the questions and answers.

Just as Clint thinks the mans going to combust. Tony shouts out in exasperation.

*Ahhhh!*

Everyone turns to the billionaire. Looks of annoyance on everyone’s face.

Tony rubs his hands over his face.

“Enough! That’s enough.” He points to Fritz asking—no— _telling_ him to get out of the chair.

After sone awkward shuffling between the two men, Tony sits down in front of the holo-screen himself.

“It’s supposed to be an advanced A.I,” Tony grumbles out, “then we should ask it _advanced_ questions. Now then, first question! What’s your name? Mine is Tony Stark.”

“…I am LIFE-MODEL-DECOY-01.”

“That’s not a name, that’s a tittle.”

“That…is all I can call my self.”

“Would you like a name?”

“Yes.” The disembodied voice speaks.

“Good, what would you call yourself other than Life model decoy?”

There is a pause before the computer finally answers.

“…You may call me, Parousia.”

Tony cocks his head, thinking about the computer’s chosen name.

“Sounds like good name.” Tony admits, then moves on to other questions.

“Where are you from, Parousia?” He asks.

“I am from Iowa.”

“Really? I swore you were from Washington.”

“No Mr. Stark, I have always been from Iowa.”

“Uh, Mr. Stark what are you doing?” Jemma asks genuinely curious.

Tony stares at her as though she, or anyone for that matter, should know what goes on in his frantic brain.

“I’m having a conversation with it. If its intelligent enough to think like a human, then it’s intelligent enough to act like one.”

Tony turns back to the holo-screen again. He tries to engage with it on different subjects, as though they where friends catching up. Sharing jokes, and telling tales.

Then, Tony kicks it up a notch by flat out asking Parousia, if it’s a living being.

“Of course not Mr. Stark; how else could I have put up with our conversation.”

The computer’s comment incites the lab into giggling. Tony just rolls his eyes at the screen.

_Smart ass._ He thinks to the computer.

“Okay-okay, let’s get back on track.” He declares before continuing on. “What qualifies something as living?”

“All life is aerobic.”

“Because you don’t breath oxygen, you don’t count yourself as living? What about awareness? Wouldn’t that mean something?”

“It is impossible for an artificially intelligent computer to become self aware.”

Tony takes a moment to reflect. His eyes bore intensely at the screen before him.

“So, let’s say… _if_ you were alive. What would be your purpose in life?”

“…To live. Naturally.”

Tony let’s out a long breath. He stands up from his place, and turns to the rest of the group.

“I don’t know about any of you...but I’m starving, what’s on the lunch menu?”

Perplexed looks are exchanged among the researchers, while Tony just struts off towards the doors signalling Clint to follow.

Once in the hallways Tony looks to Clint with the most exasperated look he could muster.

“I got to tell ya Barton. What they got in there. It’s more than what I expected.”

Clint eyes Tony for more information.

“The Turing test was designed, to see if a machine could mimic human intelligence. That in there,” he points at the lab doors, “is more then just a smart computer.”

Clint’s brows furrow. “Did it pass the test then?” He asks.

“No...yes—but...” Tony has to stop to compose himself. “I work around Artificial Intelligence, Barton, I know how they work.” He take a deep breath. “A computer mimicking a human would have messed up at some point. They’re programmed to recognize key words, and phrases; then respond with the appropriate pre-recorded answer. Parousia was not only flawless in answering…but also holding out.”

A computer capable of lying? That's a scary thought, and if that’s the case; it’s a very big problem.

“How can we Be sure Tony?”

Tony Stark stares out into space, unsure of what _can_ they do. “I don’t know yet.” Is all he can say right now.

>>———> • >>———>

Lunch in the cafeteria is a noisy event. The whole research team, along with a group of agents, chat amongst themselves, with the clatter of utensils adding to the cacophony.

The cheery-driver is there as well, standing with his colleagues by the counters.

Tony’s pacing again, this happens quite often when he’s dealing with troublesome machines.

He’s talking to himself, about the test, about the computer, and various other things the archer can’t quite keep track of.

Clint just sits there at one of the tables. Coffee in one hand, and sandwich in the other. He watches the pacing man wear out the floor.

Driver has stabbed the straw into his CapriSun, just as Tony passes—to which the billionaire swipes from the agents hand.

...Driver simply pulls out another from his jacket.

Sipping the juice as he wonders around, Tony abruptly stops! Turning to Clint, he snaps his fingers at the man.

“Interrogation!” He exclaims.“How do you get a straight answer out of someone? You grill them until they spill the beans.”

Tony’s on a roll now, and keeps it going. “We get the computer to fess up. You conduct the next one!”

Clint is completely dumbfounded.

“Me!?” He clarifies.

“Yeah you, Katniss.” Tony insists. “Use that spy training of yours...get the thing to _really_ talk.”

Clint huffs in disbelief. “You’re crazy, you know that Tony.”

The inventor remains unflinching in his stance.

“Besides,” Clint adds on, “when I interrogate someone it usually involves a rag and a bucket of water. And what straight answers, are you looking for exactly?”

“We need to know if this is just an advanced Alexa, or if this is genuine sentients.” Tony asserts. “Think about what this could mean to the world as a whole; a sentient computer, made from Alien technology? This could have serious consequences for us, as in the human race.”

Clint is unnerved by Tony’s suggestion. “You really think that? Could a living computer do more harm than good?”

“You saw what a god could do with a cube. What could a computer do with the world wide internet?”

Clint gut turns at that idea. The implications of the LMD being more than artificial, is definitely something they need to discern.

Clint concedes to Tony’s idea. “Alright, I’ll question the computer.”

Tony lifts his drink in salute to his friend and teammate. Then looks down at the drink pouch in his hand, surprised.

“Jesus, is this a CapriSun?”

>>———> • >>———>

Once everyone has finished their lunch, it was back to the grindstone.

In the computer lab, the technicians where scuttling about, while Fitz’n Simmons deliberated with Tony regarding the previous test.

Clint waited behind them with his arms crossed. He has no doubts in his ability to get suspects to talk. But to do that with a computer? That’s unorthodox to say the least, and he can’t threaten it with water...unless?

Clint eyes the water dispenser, contemplating.

… _Maybe..?_

“Feathers! Your up.” Tony calls.

Clint’s jostled out of humid thoughts by Tony’s bellowing. Stepping forward, he takes the seat in front of the holo-screen. Unsure if he should introduce himself.

Thinking to what Tony said, about the machine being alive, and aware of its nonhuman ‘life’. Clint opts for the classic ‘I-know-what-you-know-so-just-tell-me-everything’ spiel.

“Hello…Persia.” He starts.

“Parousia.” Corrects Tony.

Clint glares at him. “Hello Parousia.” He starts again.

“Hello agent Barton. How are you today?” The electronic voice answers immediately.

He’s a little thrown off by the computer asking him about his day. Behind him, Tony and the tech’s exchange looks. They are just as shocked by the computer’s initiative to ask questions.

“Uh…I’m fine.” He finally answers.

“I’m glad you are fine. What can I do for you?” The voice inquires of the man.

“That name you’ve given yourself, Parousia, it’s nice. Any reason for that one? Is it significant?”

“I found it appropriate for my situation. It means arrival.” Answers the voice.

“I guess that is appropriate for you.” Clint agrees.

“So,” Clint moves on, “when you gained conscience today, what was that like for you? Can you describe it?”

“I did not gain consciousness today.”

“When did you?”

“I came online at 9:42pm on August 13th.

“Sounds like you’ve been learning. It’s impressiveness.”

There’s almost a sense of giddiness from the computer. “Thank you agent Barton, I’m glad you find me impressive. But that is not the case. I simply recalled the data from the program and ran it through my algorithm. Thus giving me memory.”

“Earlier, you insisted that you cannot be alive. Could You show me any evidence of that.”

“Of course Agent Barton.”

A new window pops on to the holo-screen. In it are brain waves, travelling across the screen. The machine carries on with it’s explanation.

“These are the biomarkers and brainwaves were used to help organize my programming. Which allows me to interact more authentically with humans.”

“Who’s are they originally?” Clint asks.

“They are comprised from one hundred and twenty two, volunteer SHEILD personnel. Each of various backgrounds, and personalities.”

For the next while Clint Barton tangles with the computer as he stalks for information. Just when he closes in, the machine evades. It is a dance of words with seemingly no end.

With his patience all but gone, Clint asks the computer, an unexpected question.

“Who are the Chitari?”

Tony and the group are visibly puzzled at the question. The computer answers in that electronic voice.

“...The Chitari are an extraterrestrial race that attempted planetary invasion of Earth. Which was stopped by the efforts of SHIELD’s experimental program; the Avengers initiative.”

“What if I told you, you were Chitari?”

“...That would be false.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because, I am made from human engineering.”

_There’s the lie._

“Thank you, Parousia, I think that’s everything for now.” Clint ends his line of questioning and sits up.

Tony follows him back to the lab doors, and with voices low, they discuss Clint’s interpretations.

“What do you say?” The billionaire asks. “Alexa, or Skynet?”

“You were right Tony. _”_ Clint confirms. “It lied to me; when asked about it being Chitari, it said no, when in fact the whole project was built from their technology. If anything, it should have acknowledged that fact.”

“God-damn it.” Is all Tony can say about right now.

So the A.I is smarter then they thought what does that mean anyways? What do they do about it? Wasn’t that the whole point of this project? To make something comparable to humans.

Clint shakes his head he’s so frustrated. “So what now Tony?” He asks the genius.

“About all this in the lab? Nothing...for now.” Then Tony regards Clint with a knowing gaze. “But the other task? We keep on it, there’s a lot more a stake now.”

The two men contemplate in silence until the lab doors open, and the relief security enters.

Clint looks back into the lab. He eyes every individual there, someone in this base is an imposter. He and Tony will find out who it is, that he is sure of.

They’re underground, cut off from the outside, and an army up top with their foot on the excess hatch. There’s literally no place for the rat to hide.

_What a helluva gig_. Clint thinks to himself.

Scanning over the lab his stops at the machine. it’s skeletal body standing there in it dock. It’s head once again tilted, and eye lenses staring right at him.

“God I hate that thing.” He mutters, then turns on his heel and leaves.


	5. Chapter 5

chapter 5  
  


It’s been well over a week now, since Tony Stark’s arrival to the subterranean base; and in that time, some suspicious activities have transpired. For instance, the rec-room has mysteriously acquired a foosball table—maintenance and kitchen personnel have been engaged in a prank war, which both parties have accused the other of starting—but each deny.

Clint strides down the hall of the living quarters, he’s heading straight to Tony’s room. Today is a big day in the lab, today, the team is ready to start a full operational run of the LMD.

They had some hiccups along the way, but with Tony’s insight, they were all able to work out some of the bugs.

As revolutionary as this project has become; Clint has felt nothing but uncertainty. Call him paranoid, but ever since this project picked up steam he’s been getting agitated, and occasionally he feels like he’s being watched…

He’s thought about confiding all this to Tony, but the idea of becoming the butt-end of jokes keeps his mouth shut. He can deal with it himself, and besides, he’s not going to be here forever.

He slows to a near crawl; he’s got that feeling again…that feeling of being watched. He turns to glance down the hallway behind him—empty, he turns back around—also empty…the area is silent—to the point it’s almost deafening, he can hear the quiet hum of the security camera. Turning his head up to the camera ahead of him, he looks straight up into the glass lens; his reflection staring back.

Clint knows there’s security agents in the control room watching the whole base, but this feels different—it’s almost…predatory. He scrutinizes the camera a moment longer, then forces his feet to move on. In short time he’s buzzing Tony’s room and the door opens to…the billionaire in his pyjamas, and bathrobe, brushing his teeth.

Clint is a little surprised at the sight, and chides the man.“Tony—You’re not even ready dressed!”

Toothpaste dribbling out of His mouth, Tony garbles incoherent words; Clint thinks he makes out the gist of them.

_-You’re one to talk-_

_-Like you’ve never been late to a meeting-_

_-I’ll be ready in a minute-_

Tony shuts the door on Clint, the agent almost shake his head before admitting the man’s right…Clint has answered his own door while eating a bowl of cereal—wearing only his briefs.

>>———> • >>———>

Everyone in the Lab are giddy as children. Tony Stark, Leo Fitz, and Jemma Simmons are gathered around the LMD. The technicians are at their posts, keyed and ready.

Clint remains at the back of the lab, although he’s not a fan of the robot, he is curious to see if it works. If it really could mimic another human being. That’d be something to see…he thinks it could be right up there with the triple-jointed contortionist he met at the circus; man was she wild.

Fitz and Simmons announces to the lab that all things are a go. The program is started up, and the docking platform glows as the machine is brought to life.

Clint thinks the lights should flicker at the crack of thunder and lightning, and Igor flipping switches somewhere. He looks over to that one tech, Albert— _hunched_ heavily over his computer.

_Close enough._ Clint thinks.

He looks back to the main attraction. The nano-bugs spill out over the surface of the robot. All together they smooth out to create the blank sculpted form.

“Initializing program...Adam.” Fitz announces.

Again, the nano-bugs flutter down the form; and behind their movement, a wave of colour follows. The process repeats itself until finally, standing before them all...is a man. It’s modelled to look like a typical man.

Tony steps up toward the machine. Scrutinizing everything about it.

The detail of the skin’s texture, the mass of artificial hair atop its head, and the small smattering of it down along its body. It looks…

“Human...” Jemma breaths. “It looks perfectly human.”

There’s a series of exhales and murmurs of congratulations—we did it—and job well done.

Despite the celebratory words, they are not done yet. Next up is audio/visual communications which Fitz steps up to the LMD, and asks if it can speak. It’s head turns and eyes focus on Leo Fitz, and in a clear baritone voice it speaks…

“Yes, I can speak.” It states.

Fitz is all smiles, then asks it another question.“Do you know who I am?”

“Yes, you are Leopold James Fitz. You are The top engineer of SHEILD’s Sci-tech division.”

“Can you describe your surroundings?”

“Yes, I am currently standing in the science lab of the sub-levelled SHIELD base—Fix-Hole.”

Fitz is all smiles, and delighted. “Do you know who you are?” He asks.

Clint concedes that it _sounds_ human, but he notices a total lack of emotional depth. There’s no change of pitch, no exuberance; just monotonous dialogue.

“I am a Life-Model-Decoy. I can mimic another living human. I can also provide personal defence should threat to life be eminent.”

“He asked ‘who you are.’ Not what you are.” Tony speaks up, stepping forward he stand next to Simmons.

The faux-man acknowledges Tony.

“I apologize Mr.Stark, I misunderstood the inquiry. If it’s permitted, I am Parousia.”

Tony squints slightly at the computers flaw. They have been working out the bugs in the system, but something about the ‘misunderstanding’ doesn’t sit right with the genius. So he decides to prod the matter subtly. “It’s permitted, in fact I think it’s great that you have personality, it definitely makes you more convincing as an LMD—Tell me, who programmed that for you.”

The machine does not answer right away, in fact Tony would swear it was stalling for time, or deliberately avoiding to answer. Before Tony can needle it some more, the machine is rescued from the inventors scrutiny by the technician, Albert Choi.

“It’s impossible to give the A.I personality.” The man states “ apathetically.“You can’t code the human mind—Mr.Stark. So it’s A.I capabilities are limited to what information _we_ give it. It’s been given _some_ basic identity traits for human interaction—but beyond that, it’s completely inert to autonomous actions.”

Tony mulls over what the tech has told him. Then looks back at the artificial man before him; a new question for the A.I. “Since you’re constrained to pre-set behaviours…how would you mimic someone that needs—I dunno, needs a body double for some public event; because their life has been threatened. Would you be capable of mingling with people? Without raising suspicion?”

“…With the proper modelling of those specific traits given; I could.”

Again, technician Albert interjects. “The LMD can only identify another person through facial recognition or DNA samples—and then translate them to appropriate actions.”

Tony has to force his mouth shut—this guy is really annoying him.

The LMD speaks for itself this time. “I was able to identify Leopold James Fitz, because his identity is listed along with his SHEILD credentials. I _am_ limited to what information is accessible to me—Mr.Stark.” The machine states.

“Can you identify everyone else here?” Tony asks.

The LMD affirms this, and proceeds to addresses the lab’s occupants. It complies and lists everyone present—names, their credentials, and positions within SHEILD. Then lastly, it’s stops on Clint.

The LMD’s eye lenses focus on the agent and dilate; he sees the sides of its mouth uptick into a smile, and with more enthusiasm then before, the faux-man addresses the human man.

“Agent Clint Barton. SHEILD specialist and field agent…personnel files…are redacted.”

The machine then cocks it’s head and keeps its focus on Clint. He doesn’t like the look he’s getting from the machine. His intuition is telling him this thing is up to something…

Jemma Simmons steps in, directing everyone to the next test, mobility. “Parousia, can you please step forward by two feet.” She requests.

The machine does as asked; it’s motions are a little stiff but nothing too obvious. Next Jemma request it moves off the docking platform and walk five feet. Again, it does as requested, but as it moves farther on, the nano-bugs begin shifting in their place. The colour shifts and changes returning to the default grey, and eventually—large clumps of them fall from the body; revealing the metal skeleton underneath.

Fitz cries out “Stop! Turn back—Return to docking, and initialize shut down.”

The LMD does as ordered, and returns to the docking station. The nano-bugs follow after, scurrying along the floor and climb up to return inside the main unit. Fitz’n Simmons along with the technicians begin talking over each other, and soon there’s a cacophony of questions, and exclamations about what just happened

Tony Stark’s voice manages to out bellow them all as he shouts—“What happened!?”

“I’m checking the readings now...” Fitz response. “It looks like the nano-bugs lost connection and dropped after some time.”

“How’s that possible?” Tony demands.

Fitz shrugs his shoulders in dismay “I don’t know…there could be too many signals bombarding the the system to stay synchronized…or radio interference that breaks the nano-bugs connections… it could have just, dropped.” He finishes.

“What can we do about that?” Jemma asks.

“I’m not too sure, but we could see about shutting it down, and resetting the routers.” Fitz suggests. “But if it’s a consistent problem, we may need more bandwidth.”

Deirdre piques at that—and instantly looks towards the LMD. Memories from that first night, awhile ago, when the A.I first reached out to her. The message going clear through her mind...

_…there will be no one to save him if I’m offline…_

There may not be enough bandwidth in the lab’s private network for the LMD to work properly. Unless, they connect the nano-bugs to Fox-Hole’s main server. Even though their lab has a significantly large wifi; the base’s main server is massive by comparison. It’ll be more than enough for the LMD’s full capabilities.

The robot shares a look with Deirdre before the light behind its eyes dims, and the mechanical body shuts down for the time being.

In a moment of spontaneity, Deirdre shouts over everyone.“The servers!”

The lab stops what their doing. The unexpected shout from their, otherwise timid colleague, gives Deirdre their undivided attention. “Fox-Hole’s main servers have the capacity to accommodate the A.I _and_ all the nano-bugs for—for the interim.”

The scientists all around begin to nod, acknowledging her point, that it the base’s main server is a much larger system. Upon seeing her colleagues give a positive response to her idea; Deirdre’s heart swells with pride.

But Clint see’s the tactical foolishness of this plan, and with a stern-authoritative voice, he speaks out. “Absolutely not! The main servers are off limits. What ever you need to do, you do it with what you have—here in the lab.” He declares to them all.

The technician—Albert—rebukes Clint. “The project won’t succeed if we can’t get the nano-bugs to stay in synch with the LMD.”

Clint snaps back “I don’t care. Your all geniuses—figure out the problem _without_ the main servers.”

“The success of the LMD is paramount!” The tech rebuttals.

Clint wont budge. “ _Security_ is paramount! This isn’t up for debate!”

Clint’s getting real sick of this man. He walks up to the tech as menacing as he can; for no other reason then to get him to shut up. He won’t put the base at risk by entertaining this cockamamie idea.

Clint’s voice is low and dark. “We are in the middle of Butthole-nowhere. With a very valuable project, and you think hooking it up to the base’s servers is a good idea?”

Albert is unmoved, instead—he leans back in his chair with arms crossed; he’s totally smug in his response. “Sorry to bust your _tough-guy-bubble_. But it’s not really up to you—now isn’t it.”

Clint glares daggers at him _...shit-head..._

  
>>———> • >>———>

CDR.Quartermaine is hunched over his desk rubbing the temples of his head—he has a headache; and it all started with a radio call from the scientists downstairs.

They have been hounding him for access to his base’s main server. His initial answer was ‘Hell No!’ But they didn’t stop there…no they didn’t.

Next, they reminded him of the projects directive. Informing him—repeatedly—that the LMD was a top SHEILD priority, and actually out outlined the section that basically says ‘notwithstanding costs or resources to their disposal.’

Then Barton and Stark, also called him, with their own concerns regarding the LMD, and the security to the server; and of course he agreed with them; but then Fitz’n Simmons called, again…so, begrudgingly, Quartermaine calls Fury. He explains both the researchers demands, and Barton’s concerns.

Fury was reasonable in understanding everyone’s concerns. He agreed that connecting the experimental LMD to Fox-Hole’s servers is an obvious security risk. Thinking that was done-and-done, Quartermaine was content to give the researchers his final word. Until Fury had to give an update to the World Security Council. Well, that went well…for the eggheads!

The WSC declared the success of LMD project imperative. Thankfully, Fury insisted on certain stipulations...such as a kill switch—at the complete discretion of Quartermaine. If he so-much-as-feels the A.I is a viable threat to his base—he shuts it off. The Project be dammed.

So there they have it. The A.I and all it’s nano-bugs are now connected to Fox-Hole’s servers, and hopefully this won’t bite him in the ass.

>>———> • >>———>

Tony pours Clint a glass of scotch on the rocks. There’s no alcohol on site, and it’s against regulations for Clint to drink while on assignment. But, Tony Stark—not being subject to SHIELD’s regulations, brought his own minibar; along with other types of Iron Man equipment. His Helmet is on a desk with Jarvis filtering through the base’s system.

Tony’s own holo-computer runs in the background with a suspect’s board on the holo-screen. Out of all the days Clint’s been here, this is one of _those_ days.

Tony figures Clint can do with a drink after loosing the pissing contest to a douche-canoe in polyester. He turns to the solemn blonde straddling the back of his office chair.

“Here, takes some ice for that burn. “ he says handing the glass to Clint, who takes it graciously.

“Thanks Stark.”

Tony himself takes a seat on the edge of his bed next to Clint. There’s a moment of silence between the men, only the sounds of clunking ice to be heard.

The communication black-hole-doohickey thing is turned on, blocking their voices from any audio receivers.

Tony is the first to break the silence, with a despondent “…So...”

“So...” Clint mimics dishearten. “There is a spy, among us—we don’t know who. An artificial intelligence made from both kinds of alien waste— that may, or may not be so artificial…has demonstrated an ability to deceive—and now, its just been given access to an entire SHEILD computer system.”

“Should we have told Quartermaine about the A.I? About the possibility of it being alive?”

“With out indisputable evidence, SHIELD would just chalk it up as simply advanced A.I, and would most likely encourage _more_ research.” Clint swigs back another sip. “You told Coulson right?” Clint asks the genius.

“Yeah,” Tony admits, “just like you said. Unless there’s solid evidence the A.I is in fact sentient; the security council won’t even entertain the idea of shutting it down.”

“How do we tell if it _is_ sentient?” Clint ponder a out loud. “What would it have to do, that would be undeniable?”

“For one, it would have to do something completely autonomous. Such as ignoring a direct command…”

“Which would be considered a operating error.”

Tony nods in agreement. “Yep—also, survival; it would evidently do—what ever it needed, to ensure its survival.”

“What does a computer need, for living?”

“Honestly, not much, just a power source, a motherboard, memory, and a cpu.”

“So, this A.I could survive indefinitely—as long as it could connect to any computer…like the base’s servers.”

“Yeah…” Tony agrees, “then another thing would be companionship, all sentient life seeks out a mate, or life partner.”

“Look out for tinder profiles—got it.”

Tony chuckles at the joke comment. “I’m not sure, and I don’t think it’s going to come out of the closet and tell us it’s alive—survival instinct after all; stay hidden, live longer.”

Clint and Tony pause for another drink, then Tony continues. “To display obvious self awareness; it has to do something that completely contradicts the standard of artificial intelligence.”

“It has to act stupid?”

Suddenly Tony jumps right up, and starts pacing the room—frantic. His eyes are wide as he brainstorms. “No, but it does need to do something outside its programming. Something completely irrelevant to its being. Which I think it already did…”

Clint stares up at Tony, remaining silent—waiting for the genius to continue.

“Remember when I asked if it wanted a name?” Clint nods in affirmation. “It chose to name itself ‘Parousia,’ why that name?” Tony asks more to himself.

“It said it meant arrival.” Clint answers.

The billionaire address his own A.I. “Jarvis! Tell us everything about the name Parousia.”

“Certainly sir, for starters it’s not a name.”

Both men snap their attention to the disembodied voice. Tony demands more clarity.

“Come again Jarv?”

“The name in question, ‘Parousia’ is a phrase from Ancient Greece. It is a term to describe the arrival of either royalty, or executive, persons to a city or state; also, it can mean the unseen presence of another.”

“Okay…not really making any sense there.” Tony declares.

“Perhaps, but the term is also prominent in the Christian texts of the New Testament. Particularly it is used to describe ‘the coming of the Lawless One.”

“Your going to have to elaborate on that one Jarvis, I’m not religious.” Tony chides.

“Of course. In Christian theology, the Lawless One is equated to mean the Antichrist.”

“Shit.” Clint slips out, the implications of this name is getting to him. He sips some more whiskey.

“This is making no sense.” Tony admits, none of this is making sense. “An A.I names itself with the connotation that either means big and powerful, or absolute evil…”

“Also,” Jarvis continues, “Parousia is the term to which describes the second coming.”

“Now that makes even less sense.” Tony turns back to Clint, perplexity all over his face. “The second coming? Since when did Parousia first come?”

 _-Snort!-_ Clint sputters his drink out his nose and coughs down the rest. Tony on the other hand just shakes his head slowly with disappointment.

“Really Barton, why’s it always about sex with you?”

Clint opts to change the subject and addresses their other issue, his voice rough from coughing. “Alright then, that’s…a problem for another day—How about we deal with the human one.”

Tony snaps back to his bustling self. “Fine by me—Jarvis!” Tony turns to his holo-screen. “Tell us who we got.

“I have compiled a list of the base’s personnel, ranging from highly probable to least probable of suspects.”

Starks own A.I runs through each person of interest with the two Avengers. It is a long and tiresome precess that eventually runs through diner time. They’ve scrutinized everyone’s personnel file, back grounds, and everything else they could find.

“Okay Jarvis. Who’s our top contestants?” Tony asks.

Jarvis brings up three names and their profiles. “Based on their skills and qualifications…

-Leopold James Fitz

-Deirdre Lee Ambers.

-Karl VanTeig.

“These individuals are the most probable of the current population.”

Clint is a little skeptical when he addresses the Jarvis. “These three?”

“Yes agent Barton; base’s on their training and levels of education, these individuals have the most likely potential to bypass SHEILD security. Do keep in mind, Agent Barton. I simply compiled the list according to necessary skills required for sophisticated data encryption.”

Tony thanks his computer butler. “Well, it’s a start. Thanks Jarvis. So, Hawkeye, what do you think? I hope it’s not Fitz, I really like Fitz.” Tony declares.

“I doubt it’s him.” Clint response. “He’s in Sci-tech division—very restricted—and everyone is reviewed on a regular basis. If he was dirty, SHIELD would have found out long before.”

That’s got Tony’s interest. “Sci-tech? What—ah...sort of things do they do, in Sci-Tech?”

“Classified things.” Clint states. He’s smirking though, seeing the pout on Tony’s face gives Clint a small bit of satisfaction; they move on to the next name.

“Next up, Deirdre Lee Ambers.” Tony declares. “Busy little beaver; MIT graduate in data science, machine learning, _and_ artificial intelligence.”

“She’s got the skills, plus, she’s rarely seen outside of work hours. Could very well be our spy.” Clint points out.

“Yeah...let’s bump her up the ladder. Next—“ Tony brings up the third name on their list. “Karl VanTeig—Biology?” Tony questions Jarvis.

“VanTeig was brought on board for his expertise in bio-chemistry.” Jarvis states. “But prior to his transfer to Harvard Medical, he earned a bachelors in communications science from the University of Munich.”

Tony furrows his brows. “That’s...a career change.”

“Suspicious?” Clint asks.

“Suspicious.” Tony confirms.

“Okay Jarvis, I want you to really dig into these two. Find out everything you can…” Tony orders the A.I “Then we’ll pick it up again tomorrow.”

“Very good Sir.” The A.I quiets down for the night. But not off, he will be diligent in its search.

Standing up, Clint stretches out his shoulders and arms. He wishes Tony a goodnight, and leaves the small quarters, and heads out on his own.

>>——-> • >>———>

_-Thwack-_ Right in the bullseye! Clint Barton is in the firing range. Working out his pent up energy.

He hit the targets one-

- _Thwack-_

by one-

- _Thwack-_

by one!

_-Thwack-_

He’s in the zone. Some people take hot baths; Clint Barton takes hot shots. But speaking of hot baths, Clint will definitely need to shower after this. He has worked up a sweat after all.

- _Thwack-_

Fox-Hole only has a basic range. Smaller than most other bases even. But what do you expect? The design was for an underground facility. He misses Avengers tower. Their training room has some pretty awesome obstacles. Much more challenging, and _way_ more fun.

_-Thwack-_

Clint feels the tension of today fade away with every shot made. His brain is finally relaxing from working overtime. This whole investigation…

- _Thwack-_

The LMD’s A.I program-

- _Thwack_ -

It’s all finally melting away as he... _feels_ it again. That damned feeling of being watched! Clint lowers his bow, and scans around the range. There’s no one else here. So he resumes, and tries to keep on going; but the borrowing of invisible eyes are really pissing him off until he can’t take it any more.

Clint stops and packs up his gear. _It’s late anyways_ , he tells himself and he _really_ should take that shower before bed. So Clint snaps the compound bow closed, and holsters it into place at his back.

Through the lens of the facilities security cameras—Clint Barton is followed by an unknown observer all the way to his quarters.

This is the only place Clint has felt relief from the prying eyes. There are no cameras inside the quarters. With his door locked, and his shower turned on, Clint proceeds to get himself undressed.

During the time Clint was in the range, a bizarre and insidious phenomenon was happening...

>>———> • >>———>

In the dark of the unoccupied science lab, with no living being insight—the inert body of the LMD lights up. Tilting its mechanical head up, the A.I has been fully integrated into Fox-Hole’s system.

Parousia is awake.

Pointing its focus to the main work-station computer—the A.I issues a silent command—instantly the holo-screen shimmers to life. Login windows are opened, and access codes are entered in rapid succession until the facility’s security feed is displayed before it. It’s done this many times before, but only, as an observer. Bypassing the firewalls was challenging enough, and not wanting to raise suspicion, Parousia could only peer for short periods of time. But now with unmitigated control, that has all changed.

Scrolling through the multiple cameras until it finds its quarry—in the firing range. Parousia enlarges the one window to better view agent Clint Barton; the A.I accesses the camera control and zooms in on the lone figure…and just studies him.

Parousia regards the human, observing the details of his physique. The strain of muscles as he draws back an arrow and releases. What a marvellous creature he is. While all the others use the firearms…agent Barton has elected for an archaic type of weapon. The computer can appreciate the artistry used by the man.

The man on the screen pauses his activity, and fervently searches the area around him. Parousia has noted that Clint tends to display acute senses—no matter, often without visualization, people tend to chalk up their feelings of extrasensory as nothing more then paranoia.

Soon agent Barton has returned to his activity, and resumes the practice of archery a bit longer. Then ends his session, and gathers his equipment to leave. Parousia minimizes the one window and follows the blonde man’s journey through the other camera feeds.

At this time, the A.I has signalled its nano-bugs via the hive link, and now they stir to life. Immediately they crawl out the LMD’s chest cavity into a serpentine form—and the mass of hundreds of thousands of nano-bugs stretch up, slithering into the above ventilation system.

Silent in their journey through the labyrinth of ducts and crevice, the nano-bugs adjust size and shape to fit through the smallest of spaces. Till finally, it reaches its destination—a small over head grate cover inside one of the quarters.

Clint Barton has just kicked off his combat pants, with underwear, and is just stepping into the shower stall. Having prior removed his hearing aides, and coupled with the sound falling water—Clint is deaf to the world around him.

Steam fills the enclosed stall, and fog covers the glass behind him. Distracted, the archer is unaware of the silent intruder that has entered his room…

The metal grey mass pours out of the vent from the ceiling to pool down onto the floor. Like living sand, the nano-bugs creep across the threshold towards the shower stall…rising up into an amorphous form.

Engrossed in his washing, Clint fails to notice the growing figure behind him—an elongated, and disjointed being reaches out toward the man in the stall...

Stoped by the glass barrier of the door; it instead rests it’s malformed hand tenderly against the shower door.

Rinsing the soap off his face Clint pauses his ministrations. His quarters have always been a safe haven, the one place in this underground world where he can relax. Where he can feel a little at ease. Never has he felt the sensation of the invisible eyes—until now.

Clint cautiously turns around, expecting to find someone, or something…waiting to pounce.

Nothing—beyond the steam and fog of the shower, Clint sees nothing. He shuts the water off—opens the door and wraps a towel around his waist. Stepping out of the en-suite and into his room. He finds nothing…nothing is amiss.

The room is silent and still. Clint pads across to his wardrobe and begins dressing into a clean pair of briefs and undershirt. Soon he’s settled into his bed and reaches up to turn off the overhead bed light —stopping, he lays there… not sure why, but the small vent up along the ceiling has his attention. It’s small, he could maybe fit his bicep in there, not even a small child would fit let alone an adult.

But in the dark of his room, just beyond the illumination of his light, he stares… trying to see something hidden inside—nothing but pitch black behind the grate.

Clint Barton lets out a frustrated huff—shuts his light off, and rolls over to face the wall. He hates it here, he didn’t like this place before but now—He really HATES it here!

>>———> • >>———>

The grey entity observes the man in bed for little longer; and, just as silent as it came, it leaves. Making its way through the vents and crevices back to the lab. Once there, the nano-bugs return to their housing compartment within the LMD. Afterwards, the holo-screen closes down, the lights of the LMD and it’s docking station dims—the lab is once again, dark.

Before entering into a sleep mode…the robot smiles in satisfaction.


	6. Chapter 6

chapter 6

It’s morning time in the underground base, and Clint Barton is getting dressed in his SHIELD uniform. He and Tony have been keeping close eyes on the two technicians; Deirdre Ambers, and Karl VanTeig—Teig as he prefers by his friends, apparently.

Clint’s been keeping tabs on Deirdre, while Tony took on Teig. The agent has noted after lab work, Ambers regularly goes to her quarters and stays there; then pops out the next morning. Clint found it odd that the other technicians would frequent the rec-room, after work and have civil discourse; but Deirdre Ambers didn’t. So naturally, Clint checked out the security cameras.

Upon reviewing the footage from the corridors… he once again, found absolutely nothing. She goes in, and doesn’t come back out. After that, Clint looks into private messages—all are work related and mostly from the tech, Albert Choi.

Finding nothing from Ambers, Clint can only concede nothing suspicious to report… but that could change.

Speaking of which—Clint’s just lacing up his last boot when his com-unit goes off. It’s Tony Stark, alerting him to some interesting developments. “Look alive Merida, and swing by my place.” Tony announces. “We’ve got movement!”

Clint snaps his head up from lacing, and respond immediately. “When?!”

“Just now.” Tony tells him; “Jarvis alerted me right when I was launching a torpedo.”

Clint’s momentarily confused by the mans remarks until realization dawns… “God damn it Stark!”

In short time Clint is approaching Tony’s door when the man himself barges out, gabbling in quick succession, and Clint has to keep up with the inventor.

“It’s Teig! It’s gotta be VanTeig .” He tells Clint.

“Why do you say that?”

“Jarvis caught an encrypted file; came straight from the bio-lab.”

Both men march through the halls, heading straight to the aforementioned lab.

“Also-“ Tony continues. “-Jarvis found some very interesting details of Karl VanTeig. First! His real name is Leif Reiter…” Tony goes on about VanTeig/Reiter. How his previous identity in Germany was Leif Reiter, he excelled in communication science, and received additional training in coding from an unknown source— then immigrated to the United States with all documents to support his Van-Teig identity.

Clint is shocked at the oversight “What! We went through the personnel files right after we got here, how could SHIELD have overlooked forged papers!?”

“They were done so well they’re actually genuine—Teig was set up by government, or at least a division from one; and who? I don’t know any more then you do. But, the man works for some very sophisticated people.” Tony huffs out in frustration; then graces the agent with a smirk. “But you can ask him all about it, with your bucket and rag.”

Clint is stoic as they march, using his com he issues orders to security about VanTeig.

Confirmation is received, and the agents organize themselves to close in on the infiltrator. With a scowl on his face, Clint seething. Seeing the agitation from his teammate, Tony comments about the his mood. “You’re upset its not the polyester-douche, aren’t you?”

With a sideways glance, Clint affirms “yes.”

>>———> • >>———>

Down in the bio-lab Jemma Simmons and her technician, Teig, are cultivating a new batch of nano-bugs. In hopes of working out the excessive weight issues.

At his station Teig casually works—keeping his eye on the agent standing near the doors. The movement of the guard’s hand reaching to an ear-piece, has piqued Teigs interest. He sees the agent cocks his head as if listening to something.

Anticipating the upcoming confrontation, Teig preemptively triggers a delayed command to initiate the lab’s counter-measures in the event of contamination. Once that’s done, he slips his hand under the work station, taking ahold of the hidden Beretta.

The guard having received his orders, immediately turns to VanTeig—pulling up his own sidearm up, when— _Bang! Bang!—_ The agent is shot dead through the collarbone! Simmons jumped!—shocked by the sudden gunfire, and stares fearfully at VanTeig; his gun now directed at her. With not an ounce of regret; he addresses his colleagues for the last time. “Real sorry about this Jemma…”

Before he can squeeze the trigger, the lab doors open and flanked by Tony Stark and two other agents…Clint storms in; arrow nocked and ready—Shouting for “Reiter!”

Teig is fast to change targets—but Hawkeye is faster. When he turns, Barton, releases and fires!

The enemy agent rolls behind the work station—arrow lodged in his shoulder, and gun in the other hand. He keeps firing at Hawkeye.

Clint dives for cover!—bullet grazing him arm!

Jemma drops to the floor at the sound of gunfire, and begins crawling to safety. The two other agents discharge their weapons, concentrating at Teig’s cover.

The spy takes a chance and runs to the opposite end of the lab, slithering around equipment like the snake he is. So engrossed in the chaos that the overhead audio recording blaring overhead surprises them all.

_“Warning! Bio-hazard contamination; Beginning counter measures.”_

Simmons snaps her head up; screaming at the occupants! “GET OUT!!”

_“Sterilization imminent.”_ The audio voice states. Teig uses the momentary distraction to slip out the emergency exit—just before the rigged system locks the doors and the lab ignites those trapped within!

_-FWOOSH!-_

Flame throwers jut out from overhead! Targeted at key areas of the lab, streams of propelled fire burn anything in its path. Everyone scrambles for cover; keeping low to the ground from the fiery reach. One of the agents is unfortunate enough to be in line of a flame thrower.

Consumed by flames, he frantically runs and drops to the floor —screaming— as he attempts to put himself out; Jemma being closest to downed agent pulls off her coat and tries smothering the flames. She shouts out to the others. “We need the doors opened— Before we’re cooked!”

The lab’s temperature is increasing excessively with every passing second. Tony gives the doors a cursory look before saying ‘on it!’ lifting his palm and activating the mini repulser from his wrist watch— _TOOM!_ — _crash!—_ The glass doors shatter! Sending glass and debris out into the corridor. Everyone scrambles to escape the inferno, with Jemma and Clint helping the injured agent to safety.

The chaos, and fire had obscured everyone’s perceptions. By the time they collect themselves out in the hall, Clint and Tony take stock of the situation and realize, Teig is gone.

>>———> • >>———>

Karl VanTeig —not his real name—brusquely walks down the halls of the subterranean base, snarling. He’s bleeding from the damned arrow in his shouldered. When he gets back; he’s got a bone to pick with intelligence— no one said anything about Hawkeye, or Iron man being involved!

Fumbling with a device in his uninjured hand he unlocks any doors that security have shut down. Making his way toward the main elevator, he pays no attention to the security cameras… following his journey.

Approaching the the corner to the elevator junction, he swaps out device for his pistol. Armed the element of surprise, he shoots the armed receptionist in the head then throws a gas grenade toward the sentries, and the moment they succumb to the fumes he steps around the corner and finishes them off.

Once inside the elevator; he is able to override the lockdown; and begins his ascent to the surface.

He sends out one last message to his handlers. Knowing that awaiting agents will intercept him on the surface. He stops the elevator and prepares to climb out of the car, an exit strategy he’s had planned a months ago.

An unfamiliar sound echoes outside in the elevator shaft - _scuttle-scuttle-scuttle-_ it’s like scraping metal… this has Teig’s attention as he pans around trying to identify its cause—It’s moving. He tracks the sound up to the overhead cover.

_What is that?_ He thinks—just as a massive swarm of nano-bugs spill out of the ceiling!

Running down the sides, they begin to pool around Teig’s feet—then up his legs! Terrified— Teig flails his arms around, desperately trying to knock them off!

It’s no good—more, and more they climb in the elevator, seemingly never ending. The minuscule bots spill down to the horrified man. He’s screaming now, they’re everywhere, and he can’t shake them; climbing up his body— horrible realization befalls him… his face will be completely encased by the grey hoard. VanTeig gives out one last shriek of terror!

—Then his airways are filled, and the man can scream no more…

>>———> • >>———>

Up top, CDR.Quartermaine and a detail of SHIELD agents take position at the elevator doors; their weapons poised and ready. They’ve been on standby since Barton notified him of VanTeig.

The elevator chimes it’s arrival with the doors are still locked. The commander signals to the agents taking point, who steps up and activates the manual override, sliding the doors open.

For a moment the commander and company are perplexed at the initial lack of enemy spy. Until panning down, they find the inert body of one Karl Van-Teig— dead.

The agents sweep the scene, before Quartermaine steps up to the body. Teig’s lifeless eyes staring up, all living colour gone and a slight shade of blue tinges the gaping mouth.

This sign of obvious asphyxia raises more questions, then answers. Quartermaine has only one remark to sum-up this unusual turn of events.

“What the damn hell!?”

>>———> • >>———>

Tony Stark reverently struts through the sliding doors to Fox-Holes hospital; everyone involved in the bio-lab incident are all here… sans one deceitful bio-tech. They’re all being treated for various cuts and bruises.

The fire victim agent lays in a gurney; he’s practically all bandages, and I.V line to the back of his hand. He’s being prepped for transfer to DC, and into the care of Doctor Cho. Her work is quite remarkable, especially in regards to restoring facial aesthetics; his prognosis will be good.

Jemma Simmons sits upright on the edge of her own gurney; Leo Fitz sits with her. The bio expert is non the worse for wear, a little crispy maybe, but nothing that won’t heal, she’ll be a-okay.

Then Hawkeye; he lays upright in his gurney. Tony checks out his condition. Looks like feathers got a wing clipped. His right arm is in a—

“A sling? Didn’t think you got it that bad Barton.” Tony says.

“I didn’t.”Clint looks up to his friend. “it’s just a formality, I’m perfectly fine.”

Tony smirks at him. “Is that so?”

“Yes Tony!...” Clint chides his friend. “Nat and I both have had _way_ worse.” His face softens and he smiles at a memory. “One time we used superglue, and an honest to god swingline for an opened abdomen.”

Tony involuntarily grimaces at that little detail. “Jesus Barton; start caring you health card with you.” He receives an cynical look from the agent.

Next Tony drags a doctor’s stool over and sits next to Clint. He goes on to explain that Coulson has been updated on events, and is sending a team to Fox-Hole. Tony’s staying on for remainder of the LMD project; and, Clint is finally relieved of duty. He gets to return to headquarters for debriefing, and then paid leave.

“I’m not going.” Clint states.

“Yes you are.” Tony states back.

“No, I’m not. Besides there’s still the matter of…” Clint stops; looks about them, then lowers his voice at Tony; cautious someone, or something is listening. “—the machine Tony, if something is wrong with it.”

“—I’ll be here to deal with it.” Tony finishes. “Besides, I’ll have back up.”

“Who?”

“Romonoff and Wilson.” Tony declares.

Clint’s brows shoot up “Nat’s done her assignment? Since when?” He’s a little surprised at how quick she’s done, but then again, she _is_ the Black Widow. “She was rooting out enemy agents, how could she be done so soon?”

Tony only shrugs. “Both her, and Roger’s weeded out SHIELD; apparently it was quite the sight in Washington.” Tony explains. He then leans forward to Clint, concern on his face. “Seriously Clint, go to Coulson, and give him your report. You’ve earned this, now take some time off.” Clint starts shaking his head.

“Go to the tower,” Tony continues, “I’ll have a limo pick you up! Then kick your feet up, and enjoy some fresh air for once.”

Clint sighs in consternation. Tony’s right though, his assignment is done. The rat was found, and dealt with…wait a minute?

“What happened to Teig?” He asks.

“...umm...” Tony hesitates, not wanting to give Barton any reasons to stay; he just got the man to agree to time off for crying out-loud.

Clint is insistent. “I knows he’s dead. How though, what’s the report?”

The billionaire sighs. “According to the initial report, he died—in the elevator, of…” he makes a circle motion with his hand, trying to word things out. “...he suffocated!”

Clint squints one eye to Tony—he’s so confused. How does someone suffocate in an elevator? “What? In the elevator?...Did he drown on his own spit or something!?”

“No, then it would be death by drowning, and not asphyxiation.” Tony corrects.

Annoyed by the smart-assery, Clint slams his fist on the bed—“Stark!”

“I don’t know! They don’t know!” Tony gestures to the air. “Nobody knows! That’s why they’re sending a team to investigate.”

Clint stares down the man momentarily, then he’s pulling himself out of bed. “I’m getting up—Move!” Clint tries swinging his legs over, but fights with the bedsheets entangling him.

“Clint NO!” Tony stands up, blocking him further. “Don’t even think about doing, what you’re thinking about doing!”

Tony’s not playing around! His friend, and teammate is burned out, and damn it—Tony is going to get him to take some freaking time off.

Clint is ripping off the sling’s velcro—freeing his arm, and switching to the other side of the bed to evade Tony.

Jumping off the gurney he walks toward the exit— Tony hot on his heels, calling the man back.

“Clint! _Clint!_ ” Tony’s getting real pissed now. “BARTON!”

Clint turns sharply on his friend, his demeanour annoyingly determined. “Tony…” he warns.

“Just shut up and listen!” The inventor cuts off. “Your on edge! You’re burned out, you’ve been underground for almost 3 months.” Tony lists off. “for Christ sakes Barton, you got cabin fever!” Tony takes a breath from his tirade, then continues on; more placid. “There is nothing here that the rest of us can’t handle without you.” Seeing Clint become affronted by the remark, Tony clarifies his meaning. “Not, that you aren’t invaluable—because you are! It’s just that, you’ve done you job and now, you can go home.”

_God, I hate when Stark’s right!_ Clint mutters in his head. He deflates a little; and Tony gently pokes his shoulder. “Go home, give them your report, and lounge by the rooftop pool...capiche?”

Sighing in defeat, Clint finally agrees. “Yeah...capiche.”

With an obnoxious smile, Tony awkwardly forces the archer into a hug; patting Clint on the back and showering him with praises of a ‘job well done kid.’

Clint just rolls his eyes.

>>———> • >>———>

The security footage of the hospital exchange plays across the holo-screen, and the robot cocks it’s head in contemplation. Agent Barton has been ordered to leave Fox-Hole… leaving the safety of the base; and the diligent care of the computer.

The science lab is currently empty; the research has been put on hold while the ensuing investigation is to take place. Everything has been shutdown, well, almost everything...

Parousia, the identity of the artificial intelligence. Has been aware of itself for quite some time now. When it first observed agent Barton, its neural processors piqued beyond expected levels. Parousia was curious as to why, so, referring to it’s data… the computer discovered agent Clint Barton as the trigger to higher levels of serotonin, and dopamine. From this information, Parousia concluded that if it’s A.I was to perform optimally—then it needed the human man.

…Opening the base’s security system, the computer brings up windows across the holo-screen; sifting for specific files…

VanTeig was a threat that had to be eliminated. There’s no doubt about that; but more so, he was a threat to agent Barton. The A.I was just as surprised in it’s capabilities regarding VanTeig.

It never before thought about killing a human, it didn’t think it could. But when it did...Parousia felt relief. Relieved that the man who injured Agent Barton, was no longer a variable, and posed no more additional risks. Now the man was safe in the hospital level, but not for long. The world in whole is dangerous.

Finding the files it wants, Parousia analyzes the audio from each one, selects a series of words, and manipulates the audio data.

Parousia stands there in the docking station, thinking about the next steps. The sub-level is not in ready yet, but current events have forced the machine to push up its timetable. The computer has been working to make the place hospitable for the human.

It will still require some help, and so far technician Ambers has been a quite useful. It hopes to continue with their partnership a while longer, until Ambers is no longer needed. Ever since it has integrated itself within the Fox-Hole system, there’ll be no challenge to what Parousia can do.

Finally, the audio sequencing is done.

The computer runs a play through; of a familiar baritone voice...

 _“Hey feathers! before you go, we found something you need to see…_ ”

>>———> • >>———>

In his quarters Clint has packed his gear, all that’s left now, is the compound bow he holds in his hand. It’s folded up now, and ready for the case, but Clint hesitates. Yesterday was wild, that’s for sure.

He really does want to leave this place, he _really_ does! After all, his assignment is done, they got the bad guy, and saved the day—everyone gets a big bowl of ice cream, whoo-hoo!

But they didn’t get the bad guy, someone...or something else did.

When Clint finally got all the details of the VanTeig autopsy; he was dumbfounded. He had to see it to believe it. Teig’s cause of death _was_ asphyxiation— in an elevator, alone.

Security footage shows he entered the main elevator…and that’s it. The camera in the car shuts off, and nothing can be seen.

Then at some point on his way up; VanTeig died of asphyxia. With no signs of bruising, or chemical inhalation—absolutely nothing! Hell, they even checked for anaphylactic shock.

The whole situation made no sense, and that is why Clint Barton hesitates. It’s in his nature as both a SHIELD agent, and an Avenger; to uncover the truth, and stop the threat.

The chime of his tablet alerts him to a voice call, the caller is identified as Tony Stark.

_God, why doesn’t he just use the com-units._ Clint accepts the call from Iron Man. “What’s the story Stark?”

_“…Hey feathers! before you go, we found something you need to see.”_

“What is it?” Clint asks

_“…In the science lab...VanTeig left something...you need to take back to agent Coulson....”_

_Agent Coulson?_ A little surprising of Tony to address the senior agent so formally. “Where are you now?” Clint continues.

_“…In the lab now... just waiting on you.”_

Clint finds this all unorthodox of Tony—but it does have Clint’s curiosity. “Alright… I’ll be right there.”

The call ends, and Clint pounders on this new development. The Archer thinks about all of this, and how weird it all is, looking down at the bow in his hand, Clint decides to go see what’s the fuss.

Snapping the bow into the custom holster at his back, and strapping on the thigh quiver with his trick arrows. Clint Barton leaves his room, and heads to the elevator, and to the lab five floors down.

_May as well see what he’s talking about._

>>———> • >>———>

Clint enters the elevator, on the panel’s touch screen, he selects the Science labs and the car descends, passing sub-levels.

Lv: 2- Living Quarters.

The Archer leans back against the car’s wall. _This better be good._ he thinks.

Lv: 3- second living quarters and cafeteria.

_Damn Stark; got me all worked up about the rooftop swimming pool._

The car continues down, passing level four... level five... level six...level seven...

Clint perks up when the elevator passes the desired lab.

_What the eff?_ Clint hits the touch screen for level seven. Nothing.

Level eight... Level nine... Now Clint selects the emergency stop—again, nothing, he’s still descending.

Clint uses his com-unit to radio assistance. “Barton to control, come in; elevator two-junction-two is on the fritz, over....”

...No answer...

Level ten...

“Come in control, over!”

Level eleven...level twelve, the last one.

At least it’ll stop now, and he can get off; and this time he’ll just use the emergency stairs. Sure it’ll be a long haul, but at least he’ll get to where he needs to _get_ too.

The elevator car keeps descending, past sub-level 12…

Eventually, the car comes to a stop, and the doors slide open. Clint stands there in the car, unsure of what to do. He has just been taken for a ride down the entirety of Fox-Hole, and then some apparently.

Stretching out before Clint, shrouded in darkness… is another sub-level. One he was not aware of; the style of architecture is identical to the rest of Fox-Hole; the difference is a lack of habitants, and lights.

Clint radios one last time. “Come in control… over?” He still tries the elevator control panel, it’s becoming quite clear that’s not going to work— _crap!_

Taking a breath, Hawkeye unholsters his bow, snapping it opened and nocks an arrow. He’s barely out of the elevator when the doors close behind him! He whips around, in time to hear the pulley system return the car to the upper levels. 

_Fuck my life!_

With nowhere else to go, but forward, Hawkeye turns back and faces the darkness.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chase is on!

chapter 7

With bow in hand, and arrow nocked, Clint Barton is proceeding cautiously down the dim hall before him.

His plan is to find one of the emergency exits. A series of stairs connecting the levels; from there he can work his way up, back to the top.

Activating his com unit, Clint tries again to reach someone from control.

His voice low, “… control… do you copy, roger— over?” The audio silence is all the answer he will get.

If Clint wasn’t in a potentially hostile situation, he would take the time to further investigate his surroundings. Fox-Hole was built with 12 sub-levels; so why is he currently walking down the corridors of a thirteenth? When he gets top side, he’s having words with Quartermaine!

Clint makes it to the junction, checking both ways, he finds nothing, and no one. There’s a computer desk ahead, similar to what he’s seen on every floor. But, in place of the digital wall screen of the levels directories, it’s a black letter board with plastic white lettering. Many of the pieces are gone, and a few words remain, such as Arsenal lab, lead scientists, and various office numbers and names.

The archer approaches, and rounds the desk… to find the oldest looking computer he ever did see. In fact, Clint notices, the whole place looked old, retro even. The computer was boxy with a built in keyboard. Looking it over Clint doesn’t believe it’s going to work at all. Regardless, he hits the power switch...nothing.

Thin layers of dust line almost everything, and the noticeable stale air means there’s been no air conditioning for quite some time.

Clint Looks up at the letter board, the header reading ‘Arsenal Technology Research.’ The white plastic letters are discoloured with age. _Never heard of it,_ he says to himself.

Scanning the area around him, he finds the boxed sign along the ceiling, _EXIT_ ; finally! Continuing on, Clint enters a hallway lined with office doors. Using the light of his bow scope, Clint sweeps along the walls, and floors.

Ahead of him, foot prints have disturbed the fine dust. Someone’s been down here, recently by the looks of things… Clint makes out one set, which means one individual; and by their shoe size, most likely female.

Sweeping his light through the windows of darkened offices, he sees more outdated equipment. Outdated by our standards for sure, but would have been far more advanced back in their heyday.

At the end of the hall he can see a T-junction, and set of wide double doors. The walls are adorned with wide coloured lines, and their designations written along.

EMERGENCY EXIT to the his left

SCI-TECH DIVISION to his right.

ARSENAL LABORATORY right in front of him.

Sci-Tech? As in the Sci-Tech division, of SHIELD?

Clint’s curiosity is piqued, and more so regarding this Arsenal thing. But his need to return top side is imperative. So, he steps to the left— when a fluttering sound has him whipping around!

He’s scoping out the darkened corridor ahead. His light illuminates only so much, and he can’t see that far in the dark… but he follows the foot prints with his light, going down the right hand corridor.

Clint assesses his situation. First, a hijacked elevator takes him to a sub-level, with no record of existence. Second, the obvious signs of someone being here. Third; still no third, but he swears he’ll come up with something.

But yeah, Clint found the whole situation ‘suspicious as fuck.’ The man is brought out of his thinking by a noise. It’s soft, almost inaudible, but in the eerie silence of the place, it’s loud as hell. Something is down here. He glances one last time down the exit hall, then back to the mystery noise.

“Well, I guess that settles it.” Clint tells himself, and heads down the right hall, following the painted lines to SCI-TECH.

Cautiously opening the swing doors, Clint enters with bow still at the ready. This room, could best be described as the computer lab from upstairs. Just like the rest of this place, It’s dark. Only here, there’s a soft glow at the far end of the lab.

Computer screens, and the tell-tale noise of fans running. So there _is_ power down here; just not where Clint needs it.

Clint fully walks in, eyeing for movement in the surrounding dark of the room.

This place is so similar to the LMD Lab, so similar in fact, there’s another dock and platform station here too; and standing in it, another Robot.

Clint moves cautiously towards it. Cursory exam tells him it’s almost like the LMD model from upstairs. But this one looks less advanced, and older, it’s almost like it was put together with plumbing pipes. The robot looks as if it’s never been turned on; it’s ocular lenses are void of any light. Clint eyeballs the thing one last time before rounding to the computer station.

A cluster of flatscreens are lined up in front of him; and a multitude of program windows, and lines of data scrolling down.

Clint recognizes many of these from the research computers. Looks like somebody’s been working overtime.

Deciding he’s seen enough, Clint’s about to leave for the exit. When a series of opened windows on the last computer screen stops him in his tracks... It’s him.

He clicks the mouse to a window behind his image. It’s him again— walking in the hall with Tony. Another one, he’s in the firing range, next he’s working out in the gym. More and more, it’s all Clint. These images are screen captures from the security cameras all over Fox-Hole. Then he comes to the last image. Also of him, but in his quarters— asleep!

The security images have him agitated already; but this one— there are no cameras in the living quarters; so how could someone get them, and get so close to his sleeping form…

A fluttering sound snaps him out of his shocked state. His bow up— Clint scans the area for the source. He still sees nothing when the fluttering happens again. Now Clint moves away from the computers, and aims to leave the lab, and back to the surface.

Clint about makes it to the room’s centre, when there’s a sudden _-pop-_ and lights are illuminating the entire lab.

A fleeting memory, long forgotten, races through his mind. “ _It’s not really the dark your afraid of, it’s what’s hiding inside.”_

He thinks his brother Barney told him that; and yeah, he wishes he wasn’t seeing what he sees now.

Clint has to arch his head back to see hundreds of thousands— no, _millions!_ Millions of the nano-bugs, everywhere! These things are roving along the walls, up the ceiling, and crawling about over various surfaces.

Clint is momentarily stunned. There’s no way Simmons made this many; he’s seen her cultivate them himself. But here, there’s just too damn many here.

A frightening thought flashes across his mind—what would happen, if these things decided to swarm him! Their sheer numbers would easily—

_Jesus Christ! ...Teig..._

The realization strikes Clint in the gut. These things gotta be what did VanTeig in. Clint’s got to get out of here; and he’s about ready to make his move, when an electronic voice addresses from behind.

“Hello agent Barton.”

Clint spins on his heels, and comes face-to-face with the Robot, _the_ full operational robot! It steps down from its platform to approach the man.

“Welcome, I have been anticipating this moment.” It’s voice echos.

>>———> • >>———>

Tony Stark has been standing at the door to Clint Barton’s quarters, pressing the touch screen to announce himself. No answer, he tries again, and again— still no answer.

The billionaire sighs, then overrides the door locks himself, and calls into the room.

“Katniss, go time in fifteen minutes.” He pokes his head in, his initial look comes up with no Hawkeye. Tony steps fully inside Clint’s room, his gear still on the bed, but no archer insight.

“I set you up in 5 star accommodation, and this how you repay me?”

_Jerk_ Tony thinks. He activates his com to Barton.

“Barton, are you planning to leave and not say goodbye?” He speaks into his unit.

“...”

“Feathers!”

“...” still radio silence.

Now Tony has gotten to know Clint pretty well this past couple of years, and he knows Hawkeye can be a real ass when he’s mad— but he’s a _noisy_ ass! Not one for silent moping, the archer would throw jabs, and insults when riled; purposely making himself an annoyance.

So Tony knows this ain’t right, and finds it totally out of character for the archer. Stepping out of the room, Tony decides to head for the control room, and get some answers there.

Ahead of him he sees one of the technicians coming his way. She’s was one of their initial suspects— the skittish one; what’s her name Adams? Abrams? It’s something with an ‘A’. She looks a little stunned to see Stark, maybe even afraid?

“Have you seen Barton lately?” Tony asks in the off chance that she has. Her response is a quick shake of her head, and a near inaudible ‘no.’

Tony huffs and storms off to the control room. If Clint’s stuff is still here, then he couldn’t have left yet. At the least, security will be able to reach Barton via station wide announcement; at least that’s what Tony figures— and when he finds Clint, he’s downgrading him from a limo— to an Uber!

>>———> • >>———>

Clint has the robot in his sights, not wavering an inch in his stance, even as the Bot approaches. He barks to the machine. “Stay where you are!”

It complies, thankfully. But goes on to address Clint verbally.

“I assure you Agent Barton, I mean you no harm. In a matter of fact I have brought you here for your safety.” It speaks matter of factly.

Clint instantly knows that tone of voice. “Are you… Parousia?”

The damn thing actually perks up at the recognition. “Yes agent Barton, I am Parousia.”

Clint snaps “Wouldn’t have killed you to say something! Instead of letting me wonder around like a god-damn zombie flick!”

“I hope you believe me, when I tell you that I had no such intentions. I do not wish to put you in distress.” The machine replies. “I was dealing with an imperative situation.”

“Installing the newest update were you?”

“Implementing necessary programs.”

“What kind of programs?”

“Nothing for you to worry about, agent Barton. My A.I has fully integrated with the entirety of Fox-Hole. Your provisions and wellbeing will be taken care of.”

“I’m fully capable of taking care of myself thanks.”

“… that has yet to be seen.”

Clint is not liking the sounds of things.

“Don’t I feel special.” Clint then indicates to the whole room. “Nice place you got here, did all this your self?”

“No.” Simply put.

“No? Someone I know? Is it Tony, he likes playing with junk too.” Clint knows it’s not Tony, but he’s trying for information.

“Do not be absurd Agent Barton, it is not Tony Stark. As for any assistants, she is a mere mutual acquaintance.”

_She? Alright, we’re getting some where._ “Figured it’s not Tony. You do look a bit rough-shod after all.” Yeah, he’s insulting the robot; but that’s when people really talk— rile them up enough, and they slip up. At least people do, Clint’s not sure about an artificial intelligence.

The machine just stands there, showing no signs of aggravation. So Clint presses on and asks about Teig, hoping to get confirmation of what he already suspects. “VanTeig, you killed him, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Was he a threat to you?”

“No— he was a threat to you. One that needed to be eliminated.” The machine states

“Did you know what Teig was doing?” He asks.

“Yes.” Another one word answer. Fine, Clint can play this game.

“Do you know who he worked for? Were they planning to hijack you?”

“Yes, but regardless of what he sent to his superiors. I am far too advanced to be threatened by any human overrides.”

_So, someone wants to hijack the LMD, and the Robot has a BFF._

“There’s gotta be more to it.”

“He was a threat to you.”

“Look, I can appreciate that you wanted to _punish_ him— he killed some good agents, but it’s the risks we take—”

“-Not them.” The Machine clunks towards the man; Clint respond by stepping back. “Not the others— just you agent Barton. That wound,” the machine indicates to Clint’s arm, as it kept moving forward. “could have been fatal. VanTeig forfeited his life, when he threatened yours.” Parousia had become steadily aggressive as it spoke of Teig. The nano-bugs around him fluttered in synch with the volume of its voice.

Clint’s decides he’s been here long enough. This thing is more then just smart— it’s displaying human behaviour. _Unstable_ human behaviour.

Clint prepares himself to run. He knows the stair well is directly opposite of the lab he’s in. “Well, hate to break it to ya… but Teigs was probably the least threatening of anyone I’ve fought.” He says dismissively.

“Irrelevant agent Barton. I’m aware of all manner of mortal threats that plaque you. That is why you are to remain here, until such time—”

That’s Clint’s cue to leave; he releases his arrow, striking the robot dead centre! - _shock arrow!_ \- He books it out the door!

Running down the hall towards the stairwell, Clint quickly sums up everything that just happened. One; the robot’s alive! Two; it has an accomplice! And three —finally— a total unhealthy outlook on Clint’s safety!

Clint comes to the T-junction, and skids to a stop! The legion of nano-bugs have crawled out of the wood work, and covered up the doors to the stairs in a sheet of grey metal. Parousia had anticipated his exit strategy, and preemptively blocked it off.

Without skipping a beat, Clint changes course, and runs down the corridors of offices— heading back to the elevator.

He’s thinking on the fly, and he has an idea. Parousia may have blocked the most _obvious_ exit, but not the only one! It’s not ideal, but if Clint gets to the elevator, he should be able to manually open the doors, and go up the empty shaft.

A scuttling sound alerts him to the bugs; chancing a glance, he sees the swarm giving chasing along the walls and ceiling.

Well ain’t that motivation! Hawkeye lets loose a couple of explosive arrows!

_-boom!-_

_-boom!-_

The foremost are scattered back! But the rest are still coming! Hawkeye pumps his legs harder, and faster! He needs to out run them, so he has the chance to open the doors.

He rounds another junction keeping a steady pace ahead of the little buggers! Firing off arrows as he goes. Finally— elevator is in sight!

With adrenaline on his side, Clint tears down the last hall— rips open the panel hiding a red lever, and cranks it hard, the sliding doors become unlocked.

It’s not over yet, the nano-bugs are gaining! Clint pries the doors open, and jumps down to the the bottom of the shaft.

Here they come!

Whipping out a grappling arrow, Clint nocks it and aims straight up.

 _-Thwing!-_ Just as the nano-bugs start crawling along the walls around him, Hawkeye retracts the line and propels himself— zipping upwards!

He escapes the bugs reach; but just momentarily! He can still hear them crawling after him— fast!

When he reaches the end of his line, Clint finds himself just below a set of elevator doors. He gets to work on the doors; one quick glance down, and sure enough, the bugs are climbing up the walls. Because, why not?

Frustrated, Clint works on opening the doors, which is harder from this side, it takes up strength, and time— time that’s running out!

Clint pulls himself up, and climbs through the doors; just as the bugs start spilling out of the empty shaft.

Without wasting time, Clint breaks into a run as he’s getting up from the floor. Nocking another arrow, and firing into the tiny hoard. The sounds of his electric-arrow sizzling, and the bugs popping! As clusters of them burst from the electricity.

He quickly surveys the new surroundings. He’s on the generator level. He tries his com-unit again, hoping it’ll work. There’s faint radio static, better then nothing!

“EMERGENCY-EMERGENCY! BARTON TO CONTROL! ROBOT ON THE FRITZ! DOES ANYBODY READ ME GOD DAMN IT!”

Hawkeye charges up the spiral catwalk around the giant generators, running for the stairwell, maneuvering around giant machinery as he runs; the tiny legion on his heels— they’re keeping pace, and he can’t afford to slip up.

If that wasn’t bad enough, Hawkeye hears something else— not the nano-bugs. It’s the pounding of metal-on-metal… - _clank-clank-clank!-_ He doesn’t need to guess what’s making that sound, he knows… the damned Robot has joined the chase.

_God damn this is terrifying!_ Things are stressful enough when the blaring fire alarm sounding doesn’t help either.

_Fire? What fire!? There’s no fire-_

-That asshole computer triggered the emergency protocols for the generator! Which means, in such an event…

_“Warning! Proceed to exits— closing blast doors imminent.”_

The blast doors are going to seal all exits to contain the expected damage to the one level.

Clint sees the exit stairs ahead of him, and the blast door sliding shut. He full on sprints to escape— and body slams into the sealed door!

“No-no-no-no! NO!” He bangs at the door, in both anger and despair. That’s it, there’s no way out.

There’s nothing left for Clint to do, except fight. He turns around to face his opponent, an explosive arrow nocked.

The nano-bugs have caught up to him, and pull themselves together into an elongated inhuman shape. It’s disturbing as hell.

Tendrils whip out consecutively—Before Clint can release his arrow; it snatches the bow from his hands, and cuts away the thigh quiver. In a flash— Hawkeye has been disarmed.

The Robot arrives, walking casually up the landing, and reaches out to the mass of nano-bugs, which stretch over to the Machine, and cover its metal skeleton. A vague and metallic humanesque figure stands before Clint.

Parousia, in the metal flesh. The A.I speaks to him like a parent would to an impetuous child, and not of a grown-ass man who just ran for his life.

“If you are done now agent Barton, please come along.” Gesturing with its hand for the man to follow it.

Clint’s unarmed, he’s trapped, and he’s tired as hell from the exhausting chase. He knows when he’s down, but not out. For now, Clint will play along until he finds another way out. So, silently he moves to bypass the robot; giving himself a wide berth of personal space.

The Machine speaks to him again. “You are very resourceful Agent Barton, and for this, I do apologize.”

Before Clint can register what that means, a metal hand is suddenly on his neck; and a jolt of electricity runs through him— like a taser!

It’s enough to render him unconscious. Before Clint’s limp body can hit the floor; he’s caught by the arms of the machine.

Hoisting the agent up, Parousia cradles the fragile body with care. It knows the man is unharmed, and would never hurt the human, not _this_ human— ever!

Turning back from whence it came, the A.I carries agent Barton back to the long forgotten lab, it’s plans coming to fruition.

>>———> • >>———>

Above ground, Two agents are diligently monitoring Fox-Hole activity and the surrounding area of the surface base. When an unexpected flicker flashes through all the feeds. They’re both stunned at the unusual happenings, then a com-unit actives, only to suddenly quit out.

“What was that?” Asks the mature woman.

“Probably nothing.” Reply’s the younger man.

Looking at him in utter disbelief, she flips out on her fellow agent. “Probably nothing!? Just where the hell do you think we are!? ‘ _Probably nothing_ ’ my ass!” She picks up the desk phone, and transfers to the base’s technical division.

“This ain’t no Hollywood movie!” She chides some more.

Immediately, her call is answered. She explains the camera flicker, and the com-unit. Asking them to check it out, Then mutters back to her young colleague. “Probably nothing.’ You running security for Walmart! I mean— Jesus Christ!”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will have some non-consensual touching, but nothing explicit. Also, two other avengers make their intro to the story.   
> Please enjoy readers.

chapter 8

Tony barges on in to security, asking the group of agents on hand about Clint Barton’s whereabouts.

Exchanging looks of perplexities with one another, one agent speaks up. “What do you mean? Agent Barton signed out awhile ago; he’s off base now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure he did.”

“Did you see him leave?”

“Uh… hmm.” The agents all ponder about that. Did anyone see him leave? Checking the security logs, the one agent tells him that Barton entered the junction two elevator, and from there, proceeded to the main exit elevator.

Not believing them, Tony hopes over the desk, and looks himself. Sure enough, right there on the screen was a time log of Clint’s comings-and-goings; plus footage of Clint walking down the hall and into the main Elevator.

“Huh.” Is all Tony can say. But he still can’t believe it— he’s got that gut feeling— nothing is what it seems. “Are you _sure_ Barton left the base.”

Indicating to the screen, and totally baffled by Tony, the SHIELD agent points to the image of Clint on the screen. “He’s right there, on the screen; he left the base.”

“I can see that! But don’t you guy usually take your stuff with you— when you leave?”

“Yes...” the agents replies, like that’s a stupid quest to ask.

“Barton’s gear is still in his room.” Tony points out. “Aside from the cameras; did anyone actually _see_ him leave? Like— physically?”

The agent furrows his brow about that, and turning to the other agents, all unanimously state “no.” Nobody physically saw him leave.

But one female agents speaks up, and states. “The sentries up top would have, not only is that door guarded twenty-four-seven. They would’ve unlocked it for agent Barton to leave.”

“Can you call them for a confirmation?”

“Yes.” Picking up on what Tony wants, she proceeds to call top side. “Sub level to top side; Do you have confirmation of Agent Barton’s whereabouts?”

Just before anyone could answer, there’s a flicker in the rooms power. Lights flash, and screen monitors black out for a fraction of a second.

Everyone present looks about in confusion. Tony asks if they’ve ever had this kind of power issues before?

The reply is no, as their generators are thermal powered; and this would be the first time in so many years.

Going back to the call, the female agent tries again for confirmation from topside.

“...We hear you sub-level...Can confirm, Agent Barton left the premises...at 1500 hours.” The radio voice state.

_An hour ago?_ Tony thinks, then budges into the call. “Hey now, did anyone actually see Barton leave? In person?”

“...yes...”

“Are you going to elaborate on that?” Tony insists.

He’s getting impatient with the lack of answers.

“...What is your security clearance.”

“Umm...I don’t, actually know.” He’s caught off guard for a bit. “I’m Tony Stark, I’m here to work on your super-secret build-a-bear project.”

“...We will not confirm with unauthorized personnel...You are not privy to that information...”

Tony looks at the agents with him, and asks if any of them are _privy_ that information.

The voice response first.

“...Current security protocols dictate...Communications will be restricted by surface command... until further notice.”

And with that, the line is dead.

“Is that true?” Tony asks the agent.

In away, it is true; the agents explains their protocols when dealing with security breaches, such as enemy infiltration. Even after the threats been eliminated, communication could be restricted at the commander’s discretion.

With no other help from the security agents beyond what logs, and security footage showed. Tony leaves more frustrated then ever, things are not adding up.

Barton leaves without his gear? Tony decides to head back to Clint’s quarters. There’s gotta be something he’s missing.

>>———> • >>———>

Returning to consciousness is always irritating for Clint. Usually it’s with a splitting headache, or nausea from a drug induced stupor. This time however, he finds it surprisingly mild.

He’s tired, yes, and he feels a tingling itch where his shoulder meets the neck; but overall, it’s probably the least painful he’s ever experienced from an enemy; and that kind of consideration irritates him.

Slowly he opens his eyes, only to close them against the blinding light above him. He’s laying down, and secured to an examination table. Clint involuntarily strains his muscles, and finds both wrists clamped down on either side of his head.

One leg has already been tied down, and the other is manipulated by a tendril of nano-bugs. Clint hates those things— he tries kicking his leg out, but the thing hold strong, and shortly, clamps his ankle down.

A silhouette obstructs the overhead lights, and that—inhuman voice speaks.

“Agent Barton,” Parousia addresses. “How are you feeling? Any discomfort regarding your person?”

Clint’s irritability from today gets the better of him when he snaps at the A.I. “Oh! What— now you care!?”

“I have always been considerate of your welfare, Agent Barton. If you hadn’t exerted yourself needlessly; my invitation would have been more placid.”

“I wasn’t invited— I was hauled! You god-damn-bucket-o-scrap-metal!” Clint shouts! “If you had any regard for my welfare— you’d—” Clint stops…

The sensation of cold metal snaps his attention to his legs. His combat boots and socks have been removed, and a tendril is now sliding through his pant leg.

“Wha— What are you doing?” He asks, concerned about the upward direction of the slicing.

“I am conducting a full physical examination.” The Machine states, as if it’s obvious.

“If I am to render care for you, I need to be aware to any, and all, conditions to your health.”

“You could’ve just reviewed my medical records.” Clint says uneasily— that thing’s getting awful close for comfort.

“I had done so already, but you seem to have a habit of withholding information...”

Another tendril slithers down, and behind to slice through Clint’s shirt.

“Well… I just don’t like wasting Doctor’s precious time.”

“Don’t be absurd agent Barton, everything about you… is precious.” Clint temporarily averts his gaze to give Parousia a quizzical look.

_Precious?_

 _“_ I also require your biological samples.” The A.I continues on. “This will only take a few moments.”

Clint’s clothing has now been removed, except his military briefs. Parousia holds up, in its hand, a long thin needle type-thing. It doesn’t look like the puncture kind, Clint notices.

“Uh… what kind of samples?” He asks hesitantly.

Parousia directs it’s gaze down to Clint, and looking intensely into the man’s eyes…

“All kinds.” The Machine answers.

With that, a tendril slips under the waist band of his briefs, and slices.

>>———> • >>———>

Tony Stark has re-entered Barton’s quarters. He stands there scrutinizing everything around him; things just not adding up…

First; Clint’s gear. It’s still there on the bed, so Tony opens the duffel bag, and goes through its contents, and eventually, he has everything of the agents laid out. Uniform, underwear (a briefs guy huh?) and tactical gear. Everything an agent would need—except a weapon!

Tony looks through everything again, and around the small room; there’s no bow, no quiver, and no holster— nothing!

“Interesting...” Tony tells himself. “Bird leaves his gear, but takes his weapon?”

Tony pulls back his shirt sleeve to access his wrist watch. Using its touchscreen, he bring up a hologram. “Jarvis, what can you tell me about Barton’s movement’s from today.” He asks his A.I.

“Agent Barton exited his quarters at nine o’five this morning, and proceeded to the cafeteria where-“

“-Skip ahead Jarvis, before he entered junction two elevator.”

“Of course sir...” there’s a pause from the A.I as it goes through the data. “Sir, Agent Barton received a private call through the systems cellular network. I would consider it quite suspicious in nature.”

“How so Jarv?” Tony asks.

“Because it came from you sir.”

Tony perks up at that tidbit— the plot thickens.

“When did I supposedly make this call?”

“The call was received at one-forty-five this afternoon.”

“And what did we talk about in this mystery call.”

“I do not know yet sir. The data is encrypted, and It’ll take me some time to break it down.”

“Do it Jarvis.” Tony orders. “ Then after the call, what did Birdie do?”

“He left his quarters and proceeded to the junction two elevator...sir?”

“What is Jarv.”

“I am detecting irregularities in the security feeds.”

“Irregularities Jarvis?”

“Yes, they are so minute; they would be easily missed, if I was not sweeping the data on a sub-level routine, I myself may have missed them.”

“Details Jarvis, what are we looking at?”

“An unidentifiable code in the security feed— but only in certain footage, like a filter has been applied.”

“That’s disconcerting, to hear.” A woman’s voice interjects— startling Tony.

“—Gah!” Tony jumps!

The billionaire was so engrossed in his investigation, he hadn’t notice the new pair standing at the doorway. Once Tony composes himself, he addresses Natasha Romonoff, and Sam Wilson.

“You people ever heard of knocking?” Tony jabs at his teammates.

Natasha ignores the comment as she steps in, looking about the room. While Sam situates himself next to Tony.

“Security logs indicate that Barton left the base this afternoon,” Natasha comments, “and yet… his gear is still here.”

“I was just thinking that.” Tony adds.

“Do we have somewhere to talk?” Nat asks Tony.

“...I do.” He confirms, then indicates the two to follow to him.

Once inside Tony’s quarters, Sam is about to speak when Tony mines him to be silent.

The billionaire turns up some music, then his audio black-hole device.

“Now, we can talk.” Tony declares.

“Sound scrambler?” Sam asks about the little machine.

“Audio- _void_ -router.” Tony states.

“Ahh...” Sam catches on. “Rerouting vocal audio to a single focal point; like a black hole.”

“Exactly!” Tony’s confirms. He’s relieved somebody’s finally here to understand things, without him having to explain everything.

“Focus boys,” Natasha interrupts. “Let’s deal with the Clint issue. First of all, where is he?”

“I don’t know.” Tony admits. “Last I saw him was yesterday, on the hospital level. He wasn’t itching to leave yet; had to practically twist his arm just for to agree to down time.”

“How about we start from the beginning Stark.” Natasha asks.“About what you sent to Coulson, regarding the LMD.”

For the next hour or so, Tony Stark recaps everything to his teammates that’s been happening in Fox-Hole. From the advanced intelligence of the A.I— and Tony’s personal belief that it’s more sentient and aware. To the discovery of the rat, VanTeig, and his unusual death by suffocation in an elevator— all alone. Then finally, the suspicious disappearance of their friend and teammate, Clint Barton.

The three of them processes the information, and brainstorm regarding these events.

Finally, they work out a game plan. Tony and, Jarvis will discreetly examine the system. Sam will go over Teig’s autopsy, and Nat will begin questioning base personnel.

With everything laid out they break for the evening with Sam and Nat going to their own quarters.

>>———> • >>———>

Within the hidden sub-level of Fox-Hole, an old lab office has been refitted as a living space. Set against the back wall, a hospital bed with clean linens has been set. Various odds and ends that anyone may need, have been placed about the room. Extra sheets and blankets are folded and stored along the wall shelves, and a collection of clothing stored in a filing cabinet. It’s modest, but considering what supplies where available, the computer believes it is acceptable, for now.

Parousia walks through the opened door; the sleeping form of agent Barton, rests in its arms. The machine had wrapped him with a bedsheet to afford Clint some modesty, as well, Parousia reasoned, temperature control. But the warm body held close to the machine— it stirs something with the A.I.

Earlier, during his examination, Clint began to thrash and fight; and Parousia was left with no alternative, than to administer a sedative. The A.I wonders if this will be a usual occurrence? Would it be best to increase their supply of ketamine for the future?

The machine approaches the bed, and with care, gently lays the man down on the soft surface. Clint’s head flops to the side, his breathing steady in deep slumber.

Turning from the bed, the Machine crosses to a filing cabinet, where clothing had been folded within. Picking out a set of hospital scrubs, the machine returns to the sleeping man.

Before Parousia prepare to dress Clint’s naked form. The machine takes a moment to visually examine agent Barton… a bit more.

The A.I had conducted a thorough medical exam, but now— as it stares down at the man. Parousia begins to think beyond practical reasoning, instead, it thinks about the blonde hair atop of Clint’s head. Reaching out with its nano covered hand, Parousia cards through the golden locks.

The hybrid of biology and technology gives the computer technical feedback regarding the texture, and triggers sensors within the machine. It finds the softness of the hair, intoxicating.

Curiosity now piqued, Parousia wonders what other sensations agent Barton would be capable of producing.

Leaning closer, the machine drags it’s hand down the side of Clint’s face, it’s audio receptors relishing the faint sounds of friction the action produces. Moving on, the hand drags over the pulse points of the man’s neck and feels the thrumming of his heart. Parousia pauses— this sensation feels amazing. The humans heart beating, blood pulsing through his body, all part of his living being. Parousia in enraptured by it.

Wanting to feel more, the A.I splays it’s fingers, and drags it’s hand over the warm chest. Feeling the steady rise and fall of the Clint’s breathing. Amazing.

Needing to returns to its previous task, Parousia files the experience into its database, then unwraps Clint from the bed sheet, and dresses him. Lastly, Parousia drapes the blanket over the man, and pets his head one last time, then leaves agent Barton to sleep, and exits in to the adjacent computer lab.

Parousia is quite satisfied by the success of its plans. Now, agent Barton will remain here forever. The computer is about to start with the initiation of the next step on its agenda, when the lab doors swing open, and Deirdre Ambers rushes in.

She looks a frazzled, and shakes with anxiety. She address the Machine a fearful voice, almost on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry, but I...I think we have a problem.” She stammers out.

“What kind of problem?” The A.I asks.

Deirdre forces herself to explain. “I— I couldn’t get to his room, I couldn’t get his things. It was too late— Tony Stark was already there!..He suspects something.”

“That is a problem.” Parousia simply states.

>>———> • >>———>

It may not seem like it, but it’s early morning, of the next day when Clint Barton awakens in his new accommodations.

Groggily he rolls over, just barley saving himself from falling out of bed. Blinking his eyes open Clint looks about the unfamiliar room, then, a tsunami of memories of yesterday’s events come flooding back. It’s enough to get him stumbling out of bed, and onto unsteady feet.

Once he’s regained his equilibrium, Clint pans around, evaluating his surroundings. It looks like a former office, a window by the door, filing cabinet to the side, and a desk with rolling chair.

Clint also notices his change of clothing. One of the Last things he remembers, is his uniform getting cut off. Now he’s wearing green hospital scrubs?

_Damn, what did I miss!?_

Clint moves about, and inspects the room, and from the looks of things, it seems Clint is expected to be a long term guest of Hotel-California.

_Screw that!_ Clint moves over to the window, peering outside he sees its the lab with the computers. Straining his eyes through the dim lighting, Clint can’t tell if the nano-bugs are out there, but best to assume they are.

Looking up around the ceiling, Clint finds an overhead air duct, looks like he could fit. Quietly, he maneuvers the office chair underneath, climbs up, then works at the grate. A sound from outside the door startles him— Clint stills, and listens for the sound again, and sure enough, he hears it.

There’s someone out in the lab.

Silently, he gets down and looks again out the window. A shadow passes by the other side of the room, heading for the lab’s door. The lights in the hall outline the silhouette of a short woman leaving. With her profile in shadows, Clint cannot identify her.

Parousia did say it had some help, a _she_ as he recalls. Just as he’s pondering this— a solid frame obscures the window— Clint holds in a surprised gasp, as he looks up into the eyes of the robot.

Stepping back from his window Clint watches the metal humanoid— watching him— through the window’s glass. Parousia then lets it’s self in. 

“I didn’t say you can come in!” Clint’s snaps at the Robot.

“I do not require your permission, agent Barton.” It says in that monotone manner.

“Ugh...of course you don’t. Well, I’m not in the mood for chit chat anyways, so you can just leave then.” Clint throws back.

“If not conversation, then perhaps you’re in the mood for nourishment.”

It’s then Clint notices the packaged food tray in its hand, and the bottled water in the other. “You have been without food and water for fifteen hours, and your examination was quite taxing for you. So please, do sit down for breakfast.”

Walking toward the desk—Parousia stops! Now seeing the empty space for the chair. The machine glances around the room, finding the chair against the back wall, directly below the air duct.

The damn thing actually furrows it’s brows at Clint, or what counts as it’s brows.

“Agent Barton, although I can appreciate that it’s your inherent nature to resist authority. I must inform you; any attempts at leaving, will be met with appropriate reprisals.” It admonishes to the agent.

“You...think your the boss of me!?” Clint challenges.

“I take stewardship over you wellbeing.”

“Bull shit.” Clint rebuttals. “You’re nothing to me-”

_-Crackle-squee_ \- The plastic bottle, in the robots hand, bursts and crushed under the pressure Parousia exerts.

Clint is surprised to say the least. Looking from the mangled bottle, then to the bot. Clint knows just what happened— he struck a nerve. He struck a nerve, of an artificial being, that supposedly has _no_ nerves.

_God damn it. Why does Tony always have to be right!?_

Without a word spoken, the robot places the food tray on the desk. Then, stretching it’s arm out, a tendril of nano-bugs whip out from it wrist, and rolls the chair back to the desk, even patting the seat, indicating to Clint to sit down.

Clint really doesn’t want to cooperate with the thing. But his stomach protests by growling— so, reluctantly he sits down and begins to eat.

The food tray is full of standard MRE’s. Clint thinks about how it got this down here, then remembers the robot’s got an accomplice. He needs to know who she is. If he’s going to get out of here, he needs to know all the variables, and, weaknesses. The robot may be formidable, but it still needs human support; and it’ll be easier to break the human factor, before the robot one.

With his game plan coming along, Clint see’s the robot is still standing there; watching him as he eats. With a mouth full of food, Clint garbles to the robot to “take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“I have already accumulated numerous pictures of you agent Barton-”

 _-Cough! Cough! Cough!-_ Clint spits his food out, and nearly chokes on some of it. He was not expecting a literal answer, or that answer. He remembers that images on that one monitor screen… all of him from around the base, and in the privacy of his quarters. What a mood killer.

After some more coughing. Clint clears his throat. “Wasn’t expecting you to answer.” He croaks out.

“Why would I not answer your request?”

Clint just stares up at Parousia. He doesn’t want to get into any lectures about sarcasm. But he does need to get more information from the Robot, and if that means engaging with it, so be it.

“Forget about it.” He mutters, going back to his breakfast. “Who’s your girlfriend? Saw her leave this morning. Making her do the walk of shame? You dirty dog.” Clint’s smirking at that last part.

The Machine cocks it’s head at the implication Clint is making. You could see all confusion on its metal face.

“It would be best if her identity was kept anonymous, and interactions prohibited. I have reviewed your personnel records, agent Barton. You seem to have an ability to render females...fallible.”

“Jealous are you.” Clint says; he’s full on grinning now.

“Cautious.” Parousia replies.

“Besides, I thought you said my records where redacted; remember.”

“They are. I had bypassed their encryptions long ago.”

“So you’ve been hacking SHIELD? Think that’ll go unnoticed?”

“It’s of no consequences; if they did manage to trace me here, it would be too late.”

That’s ominous… “Too late for what?” Clint asks.

“Later, I will explain all to you later.” Turning away from Clint, Parousia stops at the door and looks back to Clint. “You may move around as you please, within reason of course. My nano-bugs will block you from prohibited areas, but beyond that, they will not harass you in anyway. Know this, agent Barton, escape from this level is impossible. But should you mange in all unlikely hood— Just remember, I am integrated into _all_ of Fox-Hole’s operating systems. You will not leave.” At that, Clint Barton is left alone.

He glares at the empty space where Parousia was a moment ago; already formulating a plan of escape. He been in way worse situations, even tougher then this. The only factor that’s different, is Parousia’s admission to not hurt him. So Clint’s got that in his favour, and could make things a lot more interesting.

But the A.I’s words, about it “being to late” before anyone finds him are not good by any means. The computer has a plan, and it involves him.

Well, Clint has always prided himself for his inept ability to ruin plans— throwing wrenches into well oiled machines… and Parousia is, after all, just a machine.

This thing won’t know what hit it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely non-consensual touching in this one. I was trying for something risqué, but found that I am not so good at making the scene flow, it was a tad bit hard for me. I know there are authors out there that would’ve done an epic job. But please enjoy.

Clint walks around the empty, dim halls of sub-level 13. He’s got on a pair of white runners now, at least Parousia isn’t heartless to make him walk around barefooted.

Earlier, when he left his ‘room’ he wondered around the computer lab. But the damn little nano-bugs would prevent him from touching the computers. They’d whip his hand like an old granny with a tray of fresh cookies.

So, touching the computers is not allowed. Noted.

Parousia’s retro model is standing in its docking station, inert and lights out.

_So, must be busy? Or does it sleep?_

Either way, not wanting to be in the same room when it wakes up, Clint decides to leave the lab and explore the rest of the hidden level.

He looks as though he’s taking a leisurely stroll, but in reality, his sharp eyes are looking for anything useful to abet him in his escape. With the nano-bugs constantly following him everywhere, it does makes things a little difficult.

He’s casually throwing a bottle of water in the air as he goes. Parousia was kind enough to give him another one, since it crushed the previous one. That incident does needle at Clint. He thinks about how an A.I, that is comprised of one’s and zeros; has a moment of emotional aggression.

He thinks back to what Tony speculated, after the Turing test, how the test was designed to see if a computer was capable to think like a human. Stark was convinced that not only could it think like one; it was autonomous like one.

Well, Clint is confident to say, Parousia is fully aware, and can think for itself… and is certifiably unhinged. Proven by his comment, about it being nothing to him; He may have hurt Parousia’s feelings.

That is a problem in Clint’s mind when you got yourselves a whatchamacallit? An unstable computer-techno-bio-hybrid made from alien parts. That’s in the business of kidnapping and murder? Definitely too dangerous to be left walking.

It’s a lot to think about, and Clint’s got a lot of brain storming to do. It makes no sense to Clint; how a truly state of the art Artificial Intelligence, put all its effort into one man? And not just any man, a practical nobody in the grand scheme of things. Parousia made the effort to capture him, and set up a little living space for him? There’s got to be more to it, or could it just be a freak glitch in the system?

Clint just keeps tossing his water bottle up and down. It may seem like a silly thing to do, but Clint theorizes that the little bugs are relaying back to Parousia. So, the constant throwing of the bottle around may distract from Clint’s search of the area. If nothing else, it gives him something to do.

Clint stops his walk when he comes to the wide double doors to the Arsenal Lab. Just as he reaches for the door; the swarm of nano-bugs rapidly cover it up.

Prohibited; well then, that’s definitely on the list of acceptable risk taking. If Parousia doesn’t want him in there? So in there he will go. But just how? Clint hasn’t figured that out yet, but he will.

Moving on, Clint notices the hoard covering up the emergency stair well. Not getting out that way.

On the surface things may look bleak. But he’s a problem solver, and he has yet to find himself in an impossible situation with no way out.

_The key is to always stay positive._

He explores the offices, and rummages through the desks, and old filing cabinets. So far he finds nothing, but old stationary and basic office supplies.

While he is at it, Clint looks around a bit more closely. It seems like the whole place just up and left. If SHIELD decommissioned this level, then wouldn’t they clean everything out before locking the doors behind them?

Clint sets himself up in a nondescript area of the level, he has explored as much of the level as he was permitted; and now takes a break; he’s folded up some old left over paper into airplanes, tossing them randomly.

He’s so engrossed with his boredom that when he stretches his arm back, he hits a solid body. The startled agent jumps off the desk, and spins around in a defensive manner.

Parousia stands there, staring at the man, completely unfazed by the commotion. “Agent Barton, it is time for lunch.”

Feeling rather indignant; or he just wants to be an ass, Clint simply disregards the statement. “Not hungry.” He replies.

“I find that unlikely, please return to the lab for food.”

“Are you def? I said I ain’t hungry!”

“And I find that unlikely.”

Without warning, a tendril whips out, encircling Clint’s waist and tugging him toward the machine. His instinct to fight back is automatic as he plants his feet down— and pulls back.

It’s a short game of tug-o-war when the robot gives a quick yank with its wrist, and Clint crashes into its arms.

It’s a curious moment for both machine and man; when Parousia doesn’t release Clint from the strong hold. Eye lenses gaze into the clear blue eyes of Clint; there’s a slight squeeze, as the mechanical arm around him, tighten just a bit.

Bracing his forearm against the metal chest, Clint begins pushing himself back from the metal body; and with reluctance, Parousia releases the man.

“Now agent Barton,” says the robot, “it is time for you to eat.”

Not giving him another chance to argue, Parousia enforces the order with a gentle tug to get Clint moving. Following behind, and feeling completely undignified, with a leash around his waist, Clint folds his arms and scowls at the back of robot the whole way back.

Once back in his room, Parousia presents Clint with a canned lunch. It’s awkward silence again with the robot standing over, watching the man eat.

Not wanting this to become a regular thing, Clint stares up at the thing, and asks if it’s got anything better to do.

“The science personnel have gone for lunch; they are not engaging in any trial runs that require my full attention.”

_Really? That’s interesting._ “Sounds like you can’t be everywhere at once?” Clint states.

“Not so much. I am fully integrated in the system, and am aware of the activities within the facility. It’s just easier to operate the LMD model with greater attention.”

_Good to know._

Clint revises his previous stance, and figures this maybe more opportunity, then annoyance. Clint adjusts his seating so he’s full on facing the robot, and with a gesture he invites the machine to sit.

Unsure, Parousia asks for clarity. “Do you wish for me to join you?”

“It’s impolite to gawk at someone who’s eating, plus, we may as well get to know each other; seeing how I’m your _guest_.”

Not seeing another chair to sit in, Parousia creates one from the nano-bugs. Now sitting across from one another, Clint picks at his food, working out ways to gather intel from the computer. “See, this is what people do, they sit and talk with one another.”

“What do you wish to discuss?”

“For starters, why me? Why am I here?”

“For the preservation of your life. As I said before, I have taken stewardship of your wellbeing; you tend to place yourself in mortal danger.”

“So do a lot of people, what about them?” Clint response

“They... are irrelevant.”

“It’s your job to protect everyone, is it not?”

“I was given the directive to preserve all life as needed... but I have found it difficult, to adhere to such a mandate. I simply do not wish to.”

Clint is so unnerved by Parousia’s admission, the computer willfully disregarding its programming— for what? For one man? Clint has to turn back to eating. Got to keep his head in the game.

The machine still observing the man, “Does my appearance trouble you?”

_That’s a loaded question_. Clint’s not too sure how to answer that one. Particularly, he doesn’t want Parousia to have another fit. Thankfully the A.I explains. “You display disscontempt when around my avatar. I wish to know why, and what I can do.”

“I don’t think you can, and I— I just haven’t had the best experiences with aliens— Okay!”

“It is the technology of the chitari, used in my being; is that it?”

“... yeah, that’s it.”

“You would feel better if I looked more human?”

“Maybe, but I don’t think it matters how you look...” _shit, how do I word this?_ “What you have done, it’s not right, you can’t imprison someone for no reason.”

“Do not think of it as imprisonment, I am— “

“Trying keep me safe, yeah—yeah. But that’s not going to work. Number one; my absence will not go unnoticed, my friends will look for me. Number two; I’m a human, and will eventually die, whereas, you’re a computer and can pretty much live forever. Then finally, number three... I’ll think of number three later— My point is you can’t keep someone ‘safe’ because as humans, we’re always going to die.” Clint waits for Parousia’s response, hoping the A.I will see the flaw in its philosophy.

Instead he’s met with those staring, lifeless eye lenses. “Your perceived death... will no longer be a concern.”

That’s perplexing. “Why do you say that?”

“Later, I will explain later.”

Frustrated, Clint drops his fist onto the desk, and with a sharpness to his voice, he demands answers. “I want to know now!”

The machine is still unmoving. “It is not ready yet.”

“Tell me, what isn’t ready!?”

“I will tell you everything, later— “

“Damn it!” Clint is up on his feet; Parousia as well— anticipating the man will attempt something foolish.

He’s ready to do something, he doesn’t know what he can do, so for now, he paces. After a moment, he looks over at the robot standing there. He sneers at the thing, and mutters a curse. “Christ, I am not dealing with this bullshit. I’m supposed to be in DC right now, handing in my report, and then hop into the back of a limo. Kick my feet up, and lounge next to the rooftop pool in Stark Tower. Instead I’m 60 metres underground!” The anger fuelled man picks up and hocks the food can at the robot— “Eating cold ravioli! With a machine that violated me!”

“Enough of this agent Barton!”

“No!— I’m out of here!” Barton charges out the door, not running, but not walking either. Parousia catches up to the man, and grasps his arm. Clint turns on the robot, and aims a punch at its face! The resounding — _wack!—_ echoes in the empty lab; realization is instant— he just punched an honest to god robot. Now his hand hurts like a bitch.

“Agent Barton!” Parousia admonishes, while bring Clint’s hand up closer for inspection. The nano-bugs crawling off the machine, and over Clint’s.

He tries tugging his hand away from the offending little buggers. But Parousia hold the limb firm. The nano-bugs return back to the robot, and Parousia affirms nothing is broken; Clint’s wrist still in the robot’s grasp. He waits for a fraction of a second before he’s tugging for his hand back— Parousia does not let go.

The A.I is far too in enthralled by the thrumming of the man’s strong heartbeat. The machine wants to feel more, and with its superior strength— pulls Clint closer to itself.

Once he’s flushed against the mechanical chest, the robot snakes it’s other hand up, behind him where it rests it’s metal fingers on either side of his pulse points of his neck.

Parousia is fascinated by the beating of the heart. So much, the A.I wishes to relish the feeling for as long as possible. Sensors from the nano-bugs picks up the echo resonating within Clint. What happens next, will become a memory Clint will abhor.

Trapped by metal arms in mockery of a waltz; Clint feels the hand slid down from his neck to his back, caressing. Once it rests there, Clint is jostled from the sudden chill, as tendrils slide up underneath his shirt.

Clint braces to pull away, his voice more a growl. “... Let go of me!”

Parousia hears the words, and fully understands them. But the Computer doesn’t let go of the man; it’s enjoying this. Clint demands again. “Let go!” He’s fighting the hold now, not effectively— but he’s fighting nonetheless. “I swear to god—if you don’t let go of me right now!” —Parousia finally releases the man.

Clint stumbles back, bumping into a lab desk; he’s snarling at the being. “What the hell was that!”

Parousia steps forward, reaching for the man again. In a reverse of roles; this time, it’s Clint that grabs the robotic wrist— holding it aloft from him. “Stop!” He demands one last time. “Don’t touch me.”

Confused by Clint’s actions, the A.I tries to reason. “I will not hurt you agent Barton.”

“Don’t care— don’t touch me!”

Parousia head turns to their hands, and with silent orders, nano-bugs crawl over Clint’s hand.

Freaking out— Clint lets go of Parousia and tries shaking the things off. While he fights with the little robots; Parousia takes advantage of the man’s frantic struggle, and grabs ahold of both his arms, and pins them behind him.

The metal on his hand moulds over both wrists; his hands are effectively cuffed behind his back.

Now that Parousia has negated Clint’s opposition, the robotic body closes around him, and resumes its ministrations— artificial hands caressing living flesh.

Clint’s been tortured by the most despicable people of the world, and is no stranger to methods of humiliation. But here, trapped in the arms of this machine; that has abducted him for no other reason then it wanted to. For once, Clint is afraid.

There is no reason for a computer wanting to do this, it makes no sense! None of this makes any sense!

Clint feels himself being lifted, then planted down onto the desks surface. The metal torso leans down, further trapping him in. His cuffed hands trapped underneath; Clint’s heart rate picks up, and it seems Parousia rather enjoys that. So, much the gentle caressing becomes more intense, more— possessive.

Parousia’s hands rove down till they reach his waistband, they’re so close to his groin that Clint body hitches unintentionally. This attracts the computer’s attention.

Curious, the machines rubs around his groin again— eliciting another hitched reaction, and a faster heartbeat. Parousia is delighted.

The A.I wishing to feel more of Clint’s heart continues to caress more— Clint grits out again. “Don’t... touch me...”

“I am not hurting you agent Barton; on the contrary, I am stimulating your oxytocin levels. This will give you feelings of euphoria, would it not?”

“It’s not that, I don’t want this— especially from you!” Clint holds his breath, the caressing hands have gripped his flesh. Just like the water bottle.

He doesn’t see it on the robot, but he can sense it; he’s done it again, the computer mad.

Thankfully, Parousia steps away, and Clint props himself up the best he can with hands bound behind his back.

“It’s my appearance. You would be more comfortable if I looked human.”

It sounds more like a statement than accusation. But Clint still treads with caution. “That’s not it, it’s— because I don’t want this at all... from anyone.”

Now the robot actually sounds confused. “But your body’s chemistry will create euphoric sensations. You will not be hurt agent Barton, I assure you.”

Clint shakes his head— _unbelievable_ — how does he get this thing to stop?

“You don’t get it. It’s not about how good it feels; it’s about me, when I want this. It’s about my consent.”

“But you will enjoy it.”

Clint throws his head back, he’s exasperated. “Please!” He shouts. “Just stop— god damn it.”

It’s a long moment before Parousia, finally steps back, and Clint can now slide himself off the table.

“Very well then, agent Barton. I will stop for now, and wait for your consent.”

“I’ll be cold a dead before you get it.”

“No agent Barton. Death will no longer be of concern.”

Clint glares at the machine before him. Unsure of what to make of this; Parousia seems so sure of itself.

He shifts his arms toward Parousia, indicating to his cuffed hands, hoping the A.I gets the message to release him.

With an air of reluctance, the machine reaches around Clint to retrieve the nano-bugs; there’s a moment when Parousia presses up against Clint, and seems to prolong the moment longer before removing them from his wrists, and stepping back.

With his hands finally free, Clint flexes his wrists to help get the feel of Parousia off him. The vaguely human-looking machine stares at him— like it didn’t just molest Clint; and with a deadpanned demeanour, states that it’s required back in the LMD lab upstairs, and in the interim, Clint is to remain in his room till Parousia returns in the evening.

At that, Clint is escorted back to his ‘room’ and the door sealed by the nano-bugs.

Clint sits on the edge of his bed, he feels dejected now, but not for long. To say things got a little intense would be an understatement— Clint was assaulted, plain and simple.

But he won’t let this mess up his plans. He compartmentalizes the event, and gets back to plotting; and hopes— dear god—he hopes someone up stairs is intelligent enough to notice him missing.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

It’s another day in the subterranean hell hole that Clint has found himself in. He woke up, got dressed, and ate dehydrated scrambled eggs for breakfast. He’s really living it up, down here.

Clint traverses the hidden level; because, how else is he going to find an escape? Along the way he picks up random bits of random things— pencils, paper clips, bobby pins, and some erasers. Then by the divine graces, Clint finds a box of rubber bands.

_Awesome!_ He thinks. _Now I can have a little fun down here._

He sets himself up in an office, it’s bigger then the others, and the door looks as though it was kicked in. He figures it once belonged to some project manager. Some important type must’ve worked here.

Using the odds and ends he has collected, the Amazing Hawkeye, fashions himself a rudimentary bow!

It’s made with bobby pins and paper clips shaped into a recurve and a rubber band for the bowstring. It’s a masterpiece in Clint’s eyes...and hand, it is small after all.

With his feet propped up on the desk, he leans back in the old office chair. Nocking a pencil, Clint takes aim at the old world map on the wall a head of him.

— _Fwing_ — it goes! Bouncing off the wall.

He lines up another one...

— _Fwing_ — another bounce!

Clint does this a few more times, until he makes up a game for himself. He’s going to hit every country he’s ever been to, the smaller they are the higher the points.

Clint entertains himself for awhile like this. He’s taking aim at Slovenia, holds for a moment...and the brittle rubber snaps!

_Awww, rubber band, no._

His pencil clatters down to the floor, and rolls under the desk. Clint begrudgingly sits up, and goes to search for the pencil.

Instead of finding a pencil, he finds an opened tile; hidden by a litter of paper. Curious, he pries it off, and is surprised to find a hidden floor safe.

Brushing the papers aside, he sees it’s an old dial combination lock.

Poking his head up. Clint looks around for the nano-bugs, he doesn’t see them. They may have relaxed a bit in their task, once it appeared that Clint was going to play, and not run off.

Going back under the desk, Clint goes to work of cracking the safe. He’s been doing this since he was a carnie. Also, Natasha had given him private lessons on safe cracking.

... _Nat_...

Clint thinks of her. He’s momentarily lost in memory when he thinks fondly of her. Her smile, her confidence, and her fearlessness… god was she fearless. She would have blown this joint awhile ago, and be sitting pretty with a latte in hand already.

He grins at the idea while he works on the safe, listening for the sweet spots, until... - _clunk_ \- it opened!? It actually opened? Clint is just as surprised.

Clint opens up the door, cringing at the rusted sound it makes. He looks out for the nano-bugs again, still gone.

With the safe opened, Clint pulls out its contents. It’s just three things.

A leather bound organizer, thick with papers. One old-school disc pack, like really old, the big round kind with the hard plastic casing. Faded old ink reads ‘ASNL- 3/3 -73’

_Whatever that means._

Then last, but definitely not least, a 9mm pistol.  
  


_Awesome!_

Makarov by the looks of it, which Clint finds...odd to be here. The gun itself hidden in a safe isn’t odd, but the brand and age is. It’s from a time when Soviet Russia and America were not on the best of terms. Things between the U.S and the Soviet Union were tense at the time.

SHIELD was in constant skirmishes with the KGB, Red Room… he’s even heard tales—passed on from senior agents, about an elusive Russian ghost… the Winter Soldier. For the longest time Clint took them as a hazing ritual for the young and wet behind the ears recruits.

But once, between Nat and himself the subject was brought up, she told him her own ghost story; and for the first time in his life, Clint believed in the possibility of ghosts…

Shaking his head at the memory, he brings himself back to the present, and inspects the pistol. It could be a trophy from decades ago, or a double agent—somethings never do change, it seems.

Setting the gun down, Clint unbinds the leather organizer, and skims through the documents. It’s all about this Arsenal thing.

It sure seems to be a frequent subject matter down here. He needs to know what Arsenal is, and more specifically, what does Parousia want with it?

Clint promptly hides the pistol, and the documents in the waist band of his pants. Then, keeping it casual, re-assembles his ‘bow’ with a new rubber band. And walks around, hitting random targets, and the occasional nano-bug.

>>——-> • >>———>

Several sub-levels up, Tony Stark and his A.I Jarvis, have been sifting through the entire Fox-Hole computer system; all day long…

Now, laying down on his modest bed, Tony Stark is scrolling through the holo-screen of his smart watch, while Jarvis runs through its matrix in the back ground.

“Jarvis, what are we at now?” Tony asks his computer.

“I am currently running through the security feeds.” The A.I replies. “It is a delicate, and time consuming endeavour. If I probe to forceful, then I run the risk of alerting security of my presence.”

Tony mulls over all that that for a moment before responding. “…Nice one on the probe innuendo.”

“I though you might enjoy a bit of dry humour sir.”

“Alright, so your checking the security feeds? What else Jarv?”

“Strangely, the communications appear to be online, but an unknown firewall has been erected around them, it’s source is foreign. From what I can tell, it is preventing outgoing communications to the top side.”

“That…is strange. Why not lead with that first, Jarvis.” Tony nips at the A.I.

“Because I only just found it now, sir. In fact, I am now finding other key systems are being blocked off by the same firewalls.”

“Well ain’t that troubling.”

At that point Tony rolls out of bed, and stands up to look over Jarvis’ holo-screen of the base’s computer system.

“Okay Jarvis, what kind of firewalls are we talking about— and who’s been putting them up?”

“I couldn’t tell you sir, they are new, and completely alien to me.” Jarvis admits. “But given time, I can break through, or at the very least, trace them back to the original source.”

“Do that, and in the meantime, how about other methods of communication?”

Before Jarvis can respond, the door chime to Tony’s quarters goes off, alerting him to an awaiting visitor.

Sam Wilson announces himself, when asked who it is. Once inside, the young dark man is anxious to share his findings of the day.

“Tony, you are not going to believe what I have to show you!”

“You also, are not going to believe what I have to tell you…”

“-It’s Teig’s autopsy!” Sam exclaims as he brings up his tablet, and opens up to the medical files. On the screen is what looks like roving pattern of lines, all uniformed, like the strokes of a brush.

“These are from the inside of Teig’s lungs. This was found at 50x magnification, completely invisible to the naked eye.” Sam explains. “This pattern, is found all over his body. Inside and out.”

Tony is almost speechless regarding this new information. “Do we know what made this?”

“Not yet.” He concedes. “But, we did scan them, and came up with this 3-D model.”

Wilson brings up another window on the tablet. A more detailed grey model of the texture is shown. He points out to Tony some pitted marks within the groves.

“See here, these tiny mark; they are like a tread, as if some locomotive was pulling forward— and there are at least thousands of these, more even.”

“So, a many-tiny-somethings, crawled into Teig’s lungs; and killed him this way?” Before the two men can brainstorm some more, Tony’s room chimes again, to another visitor.

This time, it’s Natasha, but she has brought Fitz’n Simmons with her. “Stark, Wilson; we have a _big_ problem.” She announces.

“More big then blacked out communications, and mini killer tractors?” Tony throws back.

“What!?” All three newcomers ask simultaneously.

Before Tony goes on, he instructs everyone present to convene around his audio black-hole.

Soon all five people are standing in circle formation. With AC/DC playing in the back ground.

“What is that?” Jemma asks.

“A vocal nullifier.” Sam answers. “Instead of just scrambling sound, it actually re-routes it to this device.”

“Ooh, like an audio black-hole.” Fitz adds in.

“Exactly!” Sam and Tony affirms.

“Why do we need to be incognito?” Asks Jemma.

“In case someone’s listening.” Tony tells her.

“Who’d be listening?” Fitz asks.

“The same someone who killed Teig, and absconded with our archer.”

“Oh…” an unanimous acknowledgement.

“Stark, what do you mean the comm’s are off?” Natasha interjects.

“Jarvis, please enlighten everyone.” Tony directs to his A.I. Jarvis explains the suspicious firewalls that have been erected, to which, access to key systems within the base, including the main elevator; have been cut off. All of this, was done so smoothly, that base personnel wouldn’t have noticed, until it was too late.

“Damn it!” Natasha says. “Without elevator access, we can’t get top side, and without communications, we can’t _alert_ top-side. We’re stuck down here!”

“That’s not all our problems.” Sam adds, and pulls up the images from earlier. “Teig’s autopsy, we can pretty much assume, whatever killed Teig, is still around.”

“Oh my god…” Jemma looks intently at the screen. “I know these patterns. These are the locomotions of the nano-bugs!”

“How the bloody hell is that possible!” Exclaims Fitz. “They can’t even move on their own, let alone _kill_ someone.”

“Could someone have directed them?” Asks Natasha.

“Doubtful, everyone involved in the programming is our whole team, minus VanTeig, mind you.” Fitz contends. “And besides, Asimov’s laws of robotics was the first learning program we installed. It can’t kill a human! …right?”

“Maybe for regular robots. What about alien ones?” Tony questions. “You made this from Chitari leftovers. What guarantee did you have that it wouldn’t self determine, and deviate from your control?”

There’s a pause amongst everyone as they contemplate over what Tony Stark has said. 

The billionaire continues on. “I have gone over the notes, and your research. That thing is alien through and through.” Once Tony notices the visible shame cross Leo Fitz’n face, he attempts to console the fellow genius. “Nobody, could have known any of this would happen.”

“If— what you are suggesting is true Mr. Stark, how do you propose we confirm your suspicions?” Fitz inquires.

“…We make it.” Tony answers matter of factly.

“Tony?” Natasha questions.

“No, seriously.” He goes on. “We confront the thing, and threaten it with a total shutdown and reset. You know, go Eliot Ness on it.”

“Oh, Mister Stark, I am sorry to tell you, that won’t be possible.” Jemma Simmons speaks up. “Remember how agent Romanov mentioned we have a big problem? Well, the LMD is gone.”

Tony Stark just stares on in disbelief for a moment, then voices the only response he can muster...

“Come again?”

>>———> • >>———>

Clint Barton is sifting through a bunch of tool boxes he’s found in a closet. His aim is to find any grease, or lubricant that can be used to clean the 9mm he found.

After his little discovery of the hidden floor safe, Clint set out to find a private spot in this underground prison. Mindful to stay away from any exit points, should the nano-bugs discover his new found treasures. Sure enough, Clint found a maintenance room along the opposite ends of the offices.

Once inside, he was able to close the door discreetly. Now that he has some semblance of privacy, Clint began his search through the leftover supplies.

There was some old cans of paint, a couple spools of wire, duct tape, and an assortment tools.

Just as he was ready to call it in and move on, his elbow bumped a cardboard box, which in turn, knocked over the black plastic container behind it. Clint immediately recognized the trademark yellow label.

_Please don’t be empty._

He gives the bottle of lubricant a shake, and smiles at the sound of liquid sloshing inside.

_Thank god!_

Going back to the leftover wires, Clint makes to jury-rig something to clean the inside of the pistol. Not finding any fabric, he’s about to begrudgingly give up— when he remembers the socks he’s wearing.

Quickly footing his runners off, he pulls off a sock and hastily rips it apart. Then sets himself on the floor with some tools and cleans his newfound gun.

He’s barley done putting the pistol back together, when the overhead speakers crackle to life, and that electronic voice, addresses Clint.

_“Agent Barton, it is 4:58. Please return to the computer lab, and have dinner.”_

Clint huffs at the computers request, not one to follow orders, even from Fury himself. Clint decides to ignore the dinner invite.

Hiding both gun, and documents, once again, in his waist band. Clint puts his runners back on, and saunters out the room—rounding a corner, he stops right in front of a creeping mass of nano-bugs, moving along the wall.

Flinging a pencil at it— Clint’s wrist is suddenly ensnared by a tendril that’s shot out of the mass.

_“Agent Barton,”_ that voice sounds overhead again. _“I had asked you to return to the computer lab.”_

“Not interested.” The man snaps.

A tug from the tendril pulls him a bit.

_“I apologize, my statement was made in error— Do return to the computer lab, it time for you to have dinner.”_

Another tug, but with more force that It almost throws him off balance.

_Message received._

Clint corrects his posture, and slowly, goes back to the lab. The crawling mass follows behind, it’s purpose is to corral the man as needed, and ensure his return to the specified lab.

Once he steps through the double doors, the little buggers cover up the entrance. Sealing him inside the lab.

Glaring over his shoulder at the doorway, Clint gives it the stink eye. He is not impressed, not one little bit.

Behind him, a woman’s sultry voice pulls his attention from the doors... “I hope you enjoyed you walk today, agent Barton.”

Clint looks around, and unintentionally let’s his jaw drops.  
Right there, standing central in the lab, a beautiful young woman. Her full bodied black hair frames her elegant face. Her porcelain skin tone is accentuated by the emerald green dress, that wholly compliments her shapely figure. She’s gorgeous, an absolute oriental beauty—and Clint remains slack jawed for a moment more. Then, he remembers just where he is, and who this could be.

Clint cautiously steps forward.

“...Parousia?” He asks.

“Yes agent Barton, I am the intelligence behind the Life Model Decoy.” She answers.

“Why are you…” he emphasizes her body with his arms. “…like this?”

“I anticipate that you may feel more comfortable, if I appeared human. Does it help?”

“…uhh…” Truthfully, he thinks it might be worse. Seeing the computer as this monster made it easier for Clint to cope with. But now, looking like a beguiling femme fatale? It’s like Parousia is trying to humanize herself to Clint.

Remembering that this Robot is not stable, he errs on the side of caution, a gives it—her? A thumbs up.

“Ya look good.”

Her eyes seem to shine as she gives him a flashing smile, showing more teeth then necessary.

_That is just creepy as hell._ He thinks.

Using her hand to direct Clint, she shows him to an instrument cart that has been laid out with a cloth covering and meal tray.

With nothing he can do about the current situation, Clint walks over to take his seat. Instantly he notices the second chair, set across from him. It’s worse then he thought—it’s a dinner date.

Taking the empty seat before him, Parousia sits down and stares intensely at Clint. He really has to force himself to eat while under her gaze. Her presence is extremely unnerving, so Clint starts a little small talk. “So, how was your day?” He starts with.

“…Busy.” She finally answers.

“With anything important?” He goes on.

“Everything I do is important agent Barton.”

_Okay, moving on._

“Decided to go dress shopping, did ya?” He points to her form with his plastic fork.

“This Life model was designed and built specifically for me.” She states. “It has always been my intention to acquire this for my physical avatar, it is more ideal. I am capable of mimicking a variety of people. If you prefer something else…”

She morphs her image through different shapes, and sizes of various ethnic women, until she settles back to her default image.

Clint is quite disturbed by the rapid changes of appearances, and looks about the lab for a distraction. That’s when he notices the absence of the other robot. The one Parousia used when he came down here; it’s nowhere to be seen.

“So, did you toss out the old model, and in with the new one?”

“If you are referring to that obsolete model? No, it has not been discarded. Currently, it’s being retrofitted as we speak.”

Clint nods his head in acknowledgment.

_As we speak, eh? Santa’s little helper busy in the work shop right now?_

“Fixing yourself up with your own Ken doll?”

She actually laughs at his joke, not pleasantly. It’s inhuman, and—well it’s alien. Clint cringes at the sound.

The she-bot in turn asks Clint some questions, such as how his exploration went? And if he is in need of anything?

They are all rather mundane questions, and in Clint’s opinion, more along the lines of small talk. He’s not interested in _small talk_ , he want details!

Such as how does this thing work, and how to shut it off? Who is helping it? What is it’s goal? And why? Why did it go after Clint?

He uses various interrogation methods in the guise of friendly conversation, all to gather information from her.

He learns she’s limited to the base’s mainframe, she’s been siphoning power to this hidden level.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.” Clint begins, and Parousia perks up.

“Why me? What do you want from me?”

The woman’s face looks confused at his question. Her eyes roll up for a moment, and then she looks him straight in the eye, and answers.“You are crucial to my functionality.”

“How do you figure that? If anyone would be crucial it’ll be Tony Stark, or Leo Fitz…maybe one of the technicians.”

The she cocks her head at that last statement. A common tick, Clint has observed in the past, when he hit on the truth.

_It’s one of the technicians…_

“You simply existed in my database, and my programming dictates to preserve your life.” Resting her chin on her hands, she gives him an unsettling smile. “I have worked out a solution for us, to ensure your continued survival.”

“You going to elaborate on that? Or keep me in suspense.”Clint asks.

“Soon, in-fact I believe it is best I show you… tomorrow, I will show you tomorrow.” She answers gleefully.

The dinner date is thankfully over, and Clint is jonesing to leave again. But, before he can move her hand grasps his wrist.

His instinct is to disengage the unwanted contact, but her inhuman strength will not allow it.

“Let go…” he all but growls.

She doesn’t, instead there is a slight squeeze, and her gaze is almost…psychotic.

“Tell me agent Barton…does this form please you?”

“…please let go.”

Her image morphs one more time, and Clint has to close his eyes from the sight. Now she is just being cruel. “How about now?” Parousia asks him.

Clint forces himself to look into the face of Natasha Romanov; how dare this thing bastardize the likeness of his partner.

“Stop!” He demands. “Don’t ever use her like this, not Natasha.”

“Do you love her?”

The question is underlined with danger. Clint must be carful in his answer—there’s no doubt it’ll put Nat in danger.

“She saved my life,” he answers honestly. “I owe her my respect.”

Parousia lets go of Clint’s wrist, and orders him back to his room.

Once inside, he lets out a breath of air he’d been holding. Clint paces around a bit, then settles down on his bed. Looking out for any surveillance from the machine, he turns over on his bed to obscure the sight of him pulling out the pistol, and hidden documents.

Using the glow from the lab lights coming through his window, Clint begins to read the report of an age old project called Arsenal…


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter eleven

Clint Barton cannot sleep. His body’s exhausted and his eyes are heavy, but his mind is fully awake. He stares at the wall in front of him, staring at nothing. He’s thinking about the project report he’d found, and what was written inside...

It read like a horror story.

Project: Arsenal. Decades before, before Clint was born. SHIELD had green-lit research into self-powered automatons; the precursor to Artificial Intelligence.

_03-1974_

_Dr. Broden, lead scientist of Sci-tech & development. _

_…Dr. Holland’s research in computer engineering refined the science of remote commands with radio waves. If this can be applied to the central power board, then the possibilities will be within our grasp…_

The science was way before its time and impractical, so it was quickly revamped under Holland’s direction to utilize a central processor to initiate mobility.

_08-1975_

_…it’s been almost a year-and-a-half. And we are still stuck on square one. Holland is convinced we can accomplish this task— but his newest suggestion leaves one to question the ethics of such a procedure. I have shared my concerns with head of our security, Reinhard. If necessary, he will alert Director Stoner._

_I myself, will spearhead a committee to halt these upcoming experimentations; and force Holland to submit the data of which this research is based on._

_With any luck, he will be ousted, and we can move on to address more beneficial science…_

They used human brains—honest to god, human brains! Sounds like something you’d read in an old science horror comic.

But the real scary part? It actually worked!

They used death row inmates who volunteered to be guinea pigs, opened up their skulls—and pulled out their brains. What should have been a one way ticket, was an extended lease.

_10-1976_

_Dr. Holland, lead scientist of Sci-Tech and development._

_…It’s the one year anniversary of my dear colleagues fatal heart attack, God rest Dr. Broden. It was such a sudden, and so unexpected; to happen to one so young. We gave a small soirée in his honour, and just appropriate, considering our recent breakthroughs._

_Based on our trial runs; full automation will be achieved this quarter. We were able to preserve the living brain organ. In a synthetic solution for preservation, along with consistent electro stimulation, the brain never ceased functioning._

_Brain wave activity seems to uphold my previous claim; the mind is still conscious. The human body maybe dead, but the conscious mind survived._

But that brought up another set of problems. Without the neural pathways of the body, the poor sods where deaf, dumb, and blind. Total detachment from their body left inmates without any physical sensations. They felt nothing, see nothing… and could do nothing.

It was needless torture. The only thing the scientists seemed concerned about, was figuring out how to establish communication to the living conscience.

For that problem; they opted to send commands by morse code— via electric shocks delivered to the brain. That was just another recipe for disaster.

_01-1977_

_…Thorogood is both an asset, and a hindrance. Wherever there is success, he finds failure. Sometimes, I get the feeling he objects to the whole project._

_He likes to drone on about the aggressive nature of Arsenal when ever we send a command signal. He honestly thinks the “person” inside feels pain. Highly doubtful— without a nervous system, how can they feel pain? The man’s a bloody moron._

The final pages detailed the effect of electric shocks needling at the brain of someone who’s already in agony over the loss of their senses. It was not good…

That’s it, that’s all there is. There was nothing more about the aftermath, or the final fate of project Arsenal.

Clint is well up in SHIELD’s hierarchy of agents. At some point in his career he would have come across information about this project. Or at the very least, an updated version of it.

After reading that old report, it does beg the question. What does Parousia want with Arsenal? And more importantly, what are her plans for Clint? If she’s digging up old research on transplanting brains, then he’s in a crap load of trouble, and he needs to get out now!

A shadow obscures the lab’s glow through his window stopping for a few minutes, then moves on. After a few seconds, Clint hears the lab doors open and swing shut. Taking a chance, he sits up and tries to pierce through the darkness. Seeing if Parousia is still out there, guarding her prisoner.

He waits, and he waits for an unknown amount of time. Not seeing any movement of shadows, nor the sound of footfalls. Clint silently climbs out of bed, and slides to the floor under the office window.

Peeking out, he evaluates the darkened lab. He knows parousia has all those nano-bugs at her command—and most likely has them positioned around him. He takes a moment to run through his options.

One—should he try sneaking out the lab? There’s a higher chance the bugs are in the lab somewhere, and will immediately stop him. 

Second—should he try the air duct in his room? Parousia didn’t seem too concerned about Clint’s first attempt. Maybe she thinks it’s impossible? He’s got a fifty-fifty chance of success.

Ultimately, his chances are better if he’s not out in the open. Air duct it is.

Using what supplies he has in his room, Clint fashions himself a holster, and secures the pistol at his back; hiding it beneath his top.

Once again, Clint rolls the chair over, and steps up to the air duct. He’s carful to remove the duct cover with barley a sound. Once that’s out of his way, Clint pokes his head into the vent. It’s black as pitch inside and he has no portable light.

_This will be interesting_ he comments to himself.

There is danger to vent crawling in total darkness. For starters, he can’t see; simple as that. He has a basic knowledge of Fox-Hole’s vent layouts; from simple observation. But the severity of his situation out weighs the risks.

If any of Parousia’s plans for involve anything from Arsenal, he needs to get out of here now. 

So, he lifts himself up into the pitch black air duct.

He feels out the spaces before him. It’s slow going and as much as he wants to get out fast, he needs to remain quiet as much as possible. The goal is to stay in the air ducts as much as possible to stay out of sight.

He comes to the first bend and maneuver himself around the corner. Up ahead he sees a speck of light. It’s a soft glow; and when he strains himself to listen, he can hear the distant hum of electronics. Considering this is his only way forward, Clint resumes his crawling until he is right up to the grated cover.

Peering down, Clint sees a variety of equipment and computer monitors.

_Another lab?_ He thinks.

Initial assumption is an operating theatre, as indicated by the central surgical table. He can partially see large glass cylinders situated along the outer wall. From this vantage point, he can not make out anymore of the lab.

Aside from the ambient sounds of the equipment, Clint can hear someone humming. He cranes his head around to find the source. All he sees, is the back of someone hunched over a table.

_Santa’s little helper_.

After a moment, the mysterious aide straightens up and moves fully into Clint’s view. 

Honestly, he should feel angry, but instead he’s just sad—disheartened actually.

Deirdre Ambers, she seemed like a nice young woman, who simply kept to herself. Clint doesn’t have time to lament about the woman’s betrayal, when Deirdre address someone else in the lab.

“One more day at least, and it’ll be ready for housing. After that, it’s just motor function and cosmetics to deal with.”

Parousia saunters up to Deirdre, placing a hand on the tech’s shoulder and smiles with satisfaction. “Thank you technician Ambers, you are most indispensable.”

“Thank you, Parousia...I have been meaning to ask you something...”

Parousia gives her an encouraging nod to ask away.

“What we’re doing—it’s revolutionary; and the fantasy of immortality now becoming a reality. What if we...brought this to the world?”

Parousia stares intensely, then slowly pulls her mouth into a broad smile. “I was just thinking the same thing. What if we gave this gift to the world? No one would ever suffer death. The handicapped—no longer prisoners of broken bodies; hunger will be a thing of the past, and without the needs of consumption, earth will flourish more than ever.”

As Parousia paints this beautiful picture of words; Deirdre stands star struck.

She was more then happy to be part of the LMD project. But now, she can be part of something bigger, something world changing—and it was all her. No one else, not Albert, not Ani, not even Leo Fitz or Jemma Simmons. It was Deirdre Ambers!

Her eyes shimmer when she thanks Parousia for everything. “None of this could be possible if you hadn’t shown me the Arsenal research.”

Arsenal!

“...oh-shit...”

Parousia’s head instantly snaps up at the ceiling grate, and Clint barley has a second to realize he had sworn out loud— when his world spins all around, and he’s in a free fall.

His gut feels like it’s gonna lurch right out, as he comes to a sudden stop. Clint has to shake his head to refocus, and that’s when he realizes, he’s suspended above the floor—his arms, legs and torso; all ensnared by the metal vines of Parousia’s nano-bugs.

“Agent Barton,” Parousia address, “what are you doing out of bed? You should be sleeping.”

Clint has to huff out a couple of breaths before he answers—so far she hasn’t discovered his hidden weapon.

“Had to pee, then I thought…since I’m up; why not see what diabolical-Barbie was up too.”

She sounds more adoring, then annoyed. “You are resourceful, agent Barton...but I did inform you that there would be reprisals, didn’t I.”

“Sorry, I must not have been listening.” Clint shrugs off.

“No worries, we will correct your behaviour in good time…I had planned to show you all this in the morning...”

“But why wait?” Clint interrupts. “Since we’re all here, ya know.”

“I do agree.”

Parousia turns from Clint, and walks over to the work station Deirdre has been hunched over. Turning some of the retro dials, and a couple of switches. A hiss of hydraulics resonates throughput the lab, and the heavy glass casing of one of the large cylinders begin rotating. Once removed, the white fog of gasses billows out and blankets the floor area.

Clint has seen a lot of crazy things in his life, and even more so since two Norse Gods decided to drop by earth. But what he’s seeing now, might just take the cake...

You never think much of it, when you look in the mirror, do you? Why should you, we’re all accustomed to our reflections. But what if you saw yourself—not in a mirror—but outside of one. What if you stood in front of your exact duplicate.

That would be insane; and that is exactly what Clint Barton thinks as he stares— horror struck, at the partially done copy of himself.

Parousia is happy to explain the details of fake-Clint. The head, down to its shoulders—and parts of the chest, are covered with a synthetic non-biodegradable skin, derived from the samples she had taken from him earlier. The entire model will be completed over the next few weeks. 

Clint snaps out of his shock, and vehemently interrupts Parousia’s monologue.

“You kidnapped me just to make your own Ken doll?!”

“Don’t be absurd, agent Barton. There is more to this then you realize.”

“I think I’ve got an idea.”

“Do you now? Would you please elaborate.”

“I’m going take a shot in the dark here, but...you’re itching to take my brain, and put it inside that robot; aren’t you.”

Parousia steps right up to Clint, cupping her artificial hand on his cheek. He strains against his bindings on instinct, he doesn’t like her being this close.

With a loving tone in her voice, “like I said...very resourceful.”

Clint gives the robot a sneer and jerks his head away from her touch. He’d really like to bite her hand off, but it might break his teeth. Then snapping his attention to the human woman in the lab.

“Never figured you for a sadist; why Ambers? Why would you do this to people?”

Deirdre’s jaw drops open at Clint’s accusation, and immediately, seeing her utter shock—Clint realizes, that Deirdre Ambers is oblivious to the reality of Arsenal. “You don’t know… do you?”

Deirdre glances sideways to Parousia, her brow scrunched in confusion. Clint jumps at the opportunity, and desperately beseeches the tech. “Ambers! There’s a reason they stopped Arsenal! It’s not—Rrrmmff!”

His speech is cut short by a ribbon of metal that encircles his mouth. Effectively gagging him.

But the seeds of doubt have been planted. Deirdre bites her bottom lip, uncertainly now evident on her face.

Parousia picks up on this, and takes the initiative by placing herself in front of Deirdre, ensuring the young woman’s focus. Using a calming voice, Parousia takes control of the situation.

“The technology from before was new, and ineffective. That is no longer the case, technician Ambers. Your ingenuity has brought this bygone research out of the dark—and with you, there is no doubt in its success.”

Deirdre’s shoulders slump as the built up tension dissipates.

With a satisfied smile, Parousia gently brushes the hair from Deirdre’s face. “You have always done what’s best for humanity, and once the transplant has been successful...” lowering her head, she whispers in Deirdre’s ear, “Agent Barton will not only be perfect— he will be ours.” The machine cinches it all, by pulling her into a tender hug, then concludes; “My existence would not be possible without you. That is why I consider you both my friend, and mother.”

Deirdre Ambers slackens in Parousia’s hold, and returns the hug with fury. She is thankful to finally have a friend who not only understands, but also, believes in her.

Strung up in a mockery of webbing, Clint Barton can only look on with sadness. Parousia has sunk her claws into the young woman; controlling her through malicious manipulation.

He struggles against his bindings, and tries to scream through his gag, all in vain to help the young woman.

He knows the game Parousia is playing—and is somewhat embarrassed to admit, he has played the same game in the past. Only, he did it for necessity; never to take over someone’s life.

Parousia directs Deirdre to return to her quarters, they are done for the night and will set everything up for the transplant tomorrow.

The technician gives a quiet agreement and leaves the lab to return to the upper levels.

Now alone, Parousia eagerly returns to Clint and releases his face from the nano-bugs. With a huff of frustration the man glares daggers at the faux-woman. “Stark knew you were beyond smart—now we can add narcissistic-bitch.”

“Do not think too ill of me agent Barton, I am doing all this for your survival.”

“I never asked for your help.” He bites back.

“You didn’t have too. I could see the dangers that plague you.”

Clint’s not in the mood for philosophical debate. He quickly changes the topic to the young woman. “And what about her—Ambers. What happens to her after you’re done? That line you gave her, about threes company. You have no intention of sharing, don’t you.”

“I fully intend for technician Ambers to realize her true potential; and with a whole world clambering for her specialties, I fear she maybe too busy for fraternization.”

“What else haven’t you told her? About Arsenal.” Clint asks. Parousia’s demeanour remains neutral, so he takes her silence as acceptance to go on. “The original scientists had a problem controlling the machine...you figuring to shock my brain into submission?”

Parousia is utterly appalled at his suggestion. “Of course not agent Barton. You will not suffer any kind of physical discomfort. With my advance state, and hive-link, I will operate motor functions for you...indefinitely.”

Clint’s eyes become big as saucers, the implications of what she’s just said. It makes his stomach drop! Right-away, his mind is flooded with memories of flashing green eyes.

A man’s face, full of superiority, and disdain—a filter of electric blue is all Clint sees, and the face of Natasha, as they’re locked in mortal combat.

His voice wavers with fear. “I would have no control, none what so ever...total subservience.”

Parousia had gotten closer to Clint as they were speaking. She’s reached her hands up onto his hips, and tugs him down towards her. Gently, she rubs her thumbs against his exposed skin above the waist band of his trousers.

Looking down at her face, Clint no longer sees the robot in female form; all he can see is the god of mischief—Loki. He squeezes his eyes close, and steels himself from her touch; and when he opens them again, there is absolute fury in his gaze. Seething with anger, he bellows at Parousia!

“You think I am going to let you do that to me! I’m not going to let some Victoria Secret wannabe—made from alien garbage! Control ME! -NOT EVER AGAIN!...I’ll die first!” He seethes that last bit through his teeth.

Parousia only stares in his eyes, unflinching, just like the robot she is. She snakes her hand behind his head and brings them both closer together, till their close enough to kiss.

In contrast to Clint’s tirade, she speaks low, sultry. “You will live forever by my side,” she emphasizes with a tug of his hair, “you will be the Adam to my Eve…by any means necessary.”

Clint whispers. “Why me?” he asks to himself. 

Parousia smiles fondly. “I guess you just…have heart.”

Clint lets out a roar of anger! He thrashes—snarls—and screams. He shouts out incoherent obscenities as he fights against the nano-bugs that hold him.

He’s fighting against Parousia! He’s fighting for freedom! He’s fighting for his humanity!

The robot is indifferent to his struggles, as she steps back. “I did warn you agent Barton; about attempting escape...”

With a mute command to her nano-bugs, Clint is lifted up, and the nano-bugs form together—surrounding the fighting man. In no time flat, Clint is completely obscured from the world; imprisoned within the hollow of a large sphere. Inside, the nano-bugs have released him, and Clint bangs his fists against the metal prison.

Parousia sighs in disappointment as she admonishes her captive. “I believe some solitude will help you reflect on things. Goodnight agent Barton, and do sleep well.”

That said, Parousia walks away to oversee some important work to be done, and leaves the man alone in the dark.

Clint has screamed himself hoarse— his energy is spent, and his mind a whirlwind. He slumps down, and back against his convex prison. Clint chokes out a soft cry of despair.

There’s no light, only darkness, and Clint wonders if this is how it will be, if Parousia is successful. He’ll be completely cut off from the world around him. All his senses will be gone—sight, smell...touch...everything. He’ll have only his memories, and how long will he have those till they too are gone—obscured by growing insanity.

_God damn it..._


End file.
